


Let's Try This Again

by AppleCrumble1



Category: Original Work
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sex, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1805329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleCrumble1/pseuds/AppleCrumble1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SLASH. Blueberries and snowball fights are what Alistair first thinks of when he remembers Finn. Implausible good-looks and enough baggage to weigh down a 747 are what Finn thinks of when he remembers Alistair. The kiss by the river never comes to mind. Nope. Never. Though he's fairly certain it did make him gay.</p><p>HIATUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Frogspawn

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings random reader!
> 
> Allow me to reiterate the following: this is a SLASH story. The first four chapters will be moving from kids, to teens, to older teens, to young adults. Then the real tongue-in-cheek shenanigans shall begin. Wa-hey! :D Expect plenty of sitcom-inspired humour 'round these parts. Angst don't got no place in my chocolate-covered caramel-filled world! Though that don't mean there won't be no drama. :P
> 
> Enjoy!

The river swished and rippled in front of Finn. It was the height of summer in the English countryside; he could already feel the suncream his mother had lathered over his neck warming under the glare of the midday sun. The water was beautiful; clear and sparkling, the only foreign objects afloat being a selection of leaves in various shades of green.

 

He carefully stepped into the river, keeping in mind what his grandmother had said about slipping. The water splashed around his bright blue wellington boots as he slushed forward.

 

“Mm, it should be somewhere along the edges,” he mumbled, scanning the riverbank. After a few minutes of looking, he turned with a dramatic swing of his arms and trudged further down the river to continue his search.

 

It wasn't long after that when something finally caught his eye. Finn froze. The frog froze. They silently stared at one other.

 

He chewed his lip and considered his next move. But before he could so much as twitch, the moss-green blob hopped off its rock and disappeared back into the river.

 

Finn's shoulders slumped. “Forgot they were so quick.”

 

“Umm...”

 

He almost jumped out of his boots at the new voice. Finn turned and stared wide-eyed over at the figure now standing on the other side of the riverbank.

 

“Oh!” was all he said. Then quickly added a friendly, “Hi.”

 

The other boy didn't look that much older than him, though he was dressed very fancily; like he was going to mass, or a wedding. He look at Finn for a second before responding.

 

“Hello.”

 

Finn nodded and waved.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked in a quiet voice.

 

“I'm looking for frogspawn,” Finn replied, holding up his empty yellow bucket. “Is there a wedding on? You look kinda like you're dressed for something fancy.”

 

The boy's expression changed from curious to... well, kind of blank. He then drew up his shoulders and glared.

 

“I'm running away,” he informed him. Finn blinked.

 

“Why are you dressed like that for running away? And why _are_ you running away?”

 

“I... N-None of your business.”

 

He made a face at that. “Humph! Fine. I've tried it before though. I made it as far as the end of the road once. But then it started to rain so I went home. I didn't remember to bring an umbrella or raincoat.” Finn pouted a little at the memory. “Did you?”

 

The boy seemed taken aback. Finn looked him over and saw that the only thing he really had on his person were the clothes on his back. He seemed to realise this too, as a scowl soon fell across his expression and he dropped to sit on the ground.

 

“No I... I just kind of left. I guess I didn't really think it through,” he grumbled.

 

“Well, I mean, you could buy them? There's a village not far from here,” Finn pointed out.

 

The boy shook his head. “I don't have any money.”

 

“Oh... Then maybe you can save up and try again in a few months.”

 

“It'll be too late by then.” He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. “I'll be stuck back in that stupid school.”

 

“What school?” Finn asked, curious.

 

“Ashworth Academy. It's terrible. Everyone there hates me.”

 

“Really? Why?”

 

He shrugged. “I don't know. May says they're just jealous or intimidated or something. But knowing _that_ doesn't stop them treating me like rubbish. I don't know what I did to make them hate me so much. But I...” he trailed off and looked at Finn in surprise. “Wait. You're still listening.”

 

Finn tilted his head. “Yeah?”

 

He stared and didn't seem to know what else to say. “It's just... I'm not used to people actually listening. Normally they have something more important they need to do by now.”

 

“Well, I _do_ need to find some frogspawn. Though it's not very important. More fun,” Finn said before grinning. “Why don't you help me?”

 

The boy's eyes widened almost comically wide. “In... the river?”

 

“Yeah! Come on, it's clean. You can take off your shoes. It'll be fun!”

 

“I'm not supposed to get my clothes...” he started to say, but then stopped. He frowned and Finn felt a bit disappointed, fully expecting him to walk away. It was his turn to look surprised when the boy started to pull off his shoes and socks.

 

“You're gonna help?” he asked.

 

“Yes. And my father and May can be as angry as they want! Maybe _then_ they'll finally listen to me,” he stated with a determined nod. Not for the first time, Finn noted the odd way the other boy spoke; he sounded kind of like an adult. It was strange. But he shrugged it off and smiled broadly.

 

“Great! So, do you know what it looks like?”

 

“Sort of like jelly, right?” he asked, rolling up the ends of his neatly pressed trousers before hesitantly dipping one toe into the river. He then sucked in a sharp breath and hopped in. The boy looked down in momentary wonder at his now submerged feet and suddenly smiled.

 

“I can't believe I just did that! My father would... Wow. The water's so clean. And it's not even that cold,” he said, splashing around a little and laughing. “This is great! So where might we find some frogspawn?”

 

Finn hummed and looked around. “I've been searching for a while now, but haven't been able to spot any. It should be somewhere near the riverbank.”

 

“Maybe there isn't any,” the boy offered, to which Finn sharply shook his head.

 

“No. Granny said there were frogs down here. If there's frogs then there must be frogspawn. I learned about it in school,” he stated. “My class went on a trip to the park and got some to bring back to the school pond. A few weeks later, it was full of tadpoles. Then the tadpoles grew into frogs. We brought them back to the park and let them free.”

 

The boy was gazing at him in amazement and Finn blinked. “What?”

 

“That sounds fun,” he muttered. “I wish we did stuff like that in my school.”

 

“What kind of stuff do you do?”

 

“Tests, practicals, experiments, readings, essay-” he broke off at the disgusted look on Finn's face.

 

“That. Sounds. Awful!” he grimaced. “Don't you get to have any fun?”

 

“Of course. I read all the time. And sometimes I get to go the opera. Or a play.”

 

“Eugh! That's even worse,” Finn whined, to which the boy gave an amused smile. “Don't you watch TV? Or play games?”

 

“Father doesn't like me watching TV.”

 

This earned another horrified look from Finn. “But... But X-Men. Tom and Jerry! Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!”

 

The boy simply shook his head and shrugged. “Sorry.”

 

“ _Wow_ ,” Finn whispered, eyes wide and he returned to scanning the riverbank.

 

They lapsed into a brief silence after that, the other boy being the one to break if after a few minutes. “I'm Alistair, by the way.”

 

“I'm Finn,” he replied, looking up and smiling at him. “Nice to meet you.”

 

“You too,” Alistair said, returning the expression.

 

Twenty minutes of fruitless searching and a mishmash of conversation later, Finn found himself stunned – yet again – by Alistair. “How can you speak three languages?”

 

An odd combination of embarrassment and pride coloured the other boy's face. “Just English, French, and German. I've been speaking English and French since I was a baby. I only started learning German a year ago. I'm definitely not fluent yet.”

 

Finn was at a loss. “Umm... I can count to ten in Spanish,” he lamely offered. “Let's see. Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco... Ugh, seis, siete, o... ocho, nueve, annnnnd.... diez!” He grinned broadly, proud he remembered them all.

 

Alistair rubbed the back of his head before awkwardly saying, “Umm.. actually, nueve is pronounced new-evay. Not nuh-eve.”

 

Finn's smile dropped to a pout. “Now you sound like my teacher,” he grumbled, splashing a bit of water towards him. Alistair gave an affronted yip and glowered.

 

“Not my fault you're wrong,” he haughtily snapped, splashing him in turn. Finn was about to splash him back, harder this time, when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

 

“There it is!” he suddenly exclaimed, pointing to a spot behind Alistair.

 

The other boy sharply turned around and immediately lost his footing. A small yelp was the only thing that left him before Alistair slipped and found himself sitting on the riverbed, water rushing past his shoulders. Finn slapped a hand over his mouth and a snort of laughter escaped him.

 

Alistair suddenly looked up at him and he flinched. The other boy could _really_ glare when he wanted to. “Are... are you okay?”

 

“Did you do that on purpose?”

 

Finn's hand dropped in surprise at Alistair's tone. He sounded genuinely upset. How could he think Finn had meant for him to fall? “I didn't do anything! I just pointed towards the frogspawn.” To prove it, he went over to the riverbank and scooped up some of the gelatinous goop with his bucket, bringing it back over to show him. “See!”

 

The other boy's frown waned and he looked inside the bucket with interest. “Oh.”

 

“Granny said you needed to watch where you stepped in the river. I should have told you. I'm sorry.” And he was. Finn didn't want Alistair to get into trouble because of him, and he probably would if he went home soaked to the bone.

 

Seeming to sense the sincerity in Finn's tone, the other boy managed a smile and shook his head. “It wasn't your fault. I should have been more careful. Sorry I... Can you give me a hand up?”

 

“Sure.” Finn set the bucket down on a nearby rock and held out a hand to help him stand. They struggled a little, Alistair being taller than him by a few inches. But the pair of them were soon upright. Finn winced. The other boy was completely drenched. “If you want, you can come up to Granny's house for a change of clothes. You're kinda bigger than me, but mine might still fit.”

 

“It's okay. I should probably be heading back home now anyway. Seeing as you've managed to find the frogspawn and all,” he said. All plans of running away seemed to have completely left Alistair's mind.

 

Finn retrieved his bucket and frowned. “But you helped. You should take some as well. I can come back with the bucket if you want.”

 

Alistair sighed. “I don't think my father would be happy.”

 

“Well, okay,” Finn mumbled, looking into the bucket thoughtfully. “But you're still technically the owner of some of these. Do you want me to name any of them anything for you?”

 

He looked at Finn in surprise. “Umm... I don't mind. What were you going to name yours?”

 

“So far all I'd come up with was Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, and Michelangelo.”

 

“Oh! The four famous renaissance artists,” Alistair noted with some interest. Finn stared blankly at him.

 

“Ugh, no. The four Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. You seriously need to watch it. It's great!”

 

Alistair's expression was unreadable for a second before he suddenly laughed. “Okay, fine. Hmm. Why don't you name mine... Smaug?”

 

“That's a cool name! Where's it from?”

 

Alistair gaped at him. “The Hobbit, of course! Don't tell me you've never read it?”

 

“I don't really read unless my mam makes me,” Finn said, fidgeting with the bucket. “Is it really good?”

 

“It's brilliant! It has dwarves, and elves, and wizards. You _have_ to read it.”

 

Finn made a face. “Okaaaay.”

 

Alistair could probably tell that he had no such intention, so decided to make a deal. “I'll watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles if you _promise_ to read The Hobbit. Deal?”

 

Finn's eyes instantly lit up and he nodded. “Deal!”

 

With that, they moved to go their separate ways. Finn awkwardly scrambled up onto his side of the riverbank before he heard Alistair call over to him.

 

“Are you going to come back here again tomorrow?”

 

“I don't know. Why?” he asked, hefting himself up onto the bright green grass. Alistair was standing on the other side and nervously toeing the ground.

 

“Well... if you were, I could show you where there's a rabbit burrow further down the valley. There would be baby rabbits at this time of year. If you wanted to see them,” he mumbled.

 

That sounded like fun to him. Finn grinned. “Okay. Will I meet you here tomorrow then?”

 

Alistair's head snapped up and he beamed. “Y-Yes! We can meet here at two o'clock. And we can go blueberry picking afterwards!”

 

“Cool! See you tomorrow,” Finn chirped, waving goodbye to the other boy before turning to head back up to his granny's house.

 

* * *

 

The next day saw the pair seated at the foot of a large oak tree. Finn was stuffing his mouth full of the recently cleaned blueberries they'd collected.

 

“So you're staying in your grandmother's house?” Alistair asked, plucking a single berry from their bucket and popping it into his mouth.

 

“Yeah. She lives in the cottage up the hill. My Mam, Dad, and _sister_ are here as well,” he said, “sister” coming out of his mouth like a curse. “My Aunty Sarah and Uncle Liam are up there too. So's Eoin and Cian.”

 

“Who are they?”

 

“My cousins. They're twins, both of them are ten. They're funny sometimes, but annoying too.”

Alistair nodded but didn't say anything else. After a minute, Finn asked, “Do you live in the big house up there?”

 

The hill rising up on the opposite side of the river was mostly covered in a thicket of towering evergreens. Over the top of them though, Finn could sometimes make out the angled roof of a large dark house.

 

“Sort of. It's our country house,” he answered. “We've got another house in London. It's not as big.”

 

Finn blinked. “You have two houses?”

 

“In England, yeah.”

 

“Wow. That's so cool.”

 

Both boys then went back to silently munching on the blueberries. They had almost picked an entire section of bushes clean and their bucket was practically filled to the brim. Finn doubted they were going to finish them all in one sitting. But his granny had said that if he brought back enough leftovers, she was going to make blueberry pie. So it wasn't like they would go to waste.

 

“Theesh are 'eally goosh,” he got out between a particularly large mouthful. Alistair grinned and nodded.

 

“Yeah, they've been growing here for as long as I can remember. I used to come here with-” he cut himself off and suddenly frowned. “Umm, I just really like it here. My father never wants to come with me. And everyone else is always too busy.”

 

“That sucks! Why can't your mam come with you?”

 

Alistair was quiet for a moment before he answered. “She's dead.”

 

Finn's eyes widened and he dropped the handful of berries he'd been about to stuff into his mouth. “That's terrible,” he whispered. “I'm sorry. How'd she die?”

 

“She got sick. Then sicker. Then she was dead,” he simply replied, staring at the grass with glassy eyes. “My father never talks about it. No one does, really.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“It makes them sad. Or angry. Or both.”

 

“Oh. Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Alistair looked up. “I... I don't know. Would you listen?”

 

“'Course! I've been talking about my family all day.” He wiped his hands on his trousers, leaving two large blue smears on them, and shuffled closer. “What did your mam look like?”

 

For a second the other boy looked like he didn't know how to respond. “She... she was really tall. And beautiful. With dark hair and brown eyes.”

 

“Like you!” Finn pointed out, smiling. Alistair blinked and nodded, cheeks colouring a little.

 

“Yeah. I guess so,” he murmured. “She laughed a lot and always told me stories. She used to read me books before bed. The Hobbit was one of our favourites. She was from France and spoke French to me a lot.”

 

“What was her name?”

 

“Dianne,” he replied. Alistair was gazing across the field with a wistful expression.

 

“That's a nice name. My mam's name is Jane. She grew up here,” Finn said, waving a hand to indicate the general area. “Did yours grow up in France?”

 

“Yes. But she spoke really good English. We visited her parents in Lyon a lot. I don't see them as much anymore.”

 

“That's too bad. I don't get to see my grandad anymore either. Dad said he's gone to Heaven and that I shouldn't be sad about it, but I missed him a lot at first. My dad told me he was really sick and that he's not in pain anymore. He said that I should just remember the good memories I have of him. Like the time we went to the zoo for my last birthday and a monkey stole my ice-cream. We tried to chase after him but he still got away!”

 

Finn grinned brightly at the memory while Alistair simply looked at him.

 

“Do you have any funny memories like that of your mam?”

 

He frowned and chewed his lip. “Umm... I don't know. I think so. It seems like ages since I've thought about her like that.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“When she wasn't sick.” He looked down. “Let me think.”

 

Finn sat quietly for a few minutes and let the other boy ponder. He contented himself with picking at the grass or popping a few more blueberries into his mouth. It wasn't long before Alistair suddenly sat bolt upright and grinned.

 

“I remember one!” he exclaimed. “When I was younger, my mum and I went cycling through the countryside in France a lot. I always complained about how tired I was, even though we stopped for a break every few minutes. I kept asking _“how much longer?”_ over and over again, and she kept saying _“just till the end of this road”_ or _“once we reach that tree”_.”

 

Finn laughed. His mam did that too.

 

Alistair smiled at him and continued. “One time when we were on our way back, her bicycle's wheel got a puncture. We were far away from home and knew we'd be waiting a while before anyone could come to pick us up. There was a small fair in a village five minutes away, so we went there while we were waiting.” He grinned and giggled. “They were having a pie-eating contest and Mum decided we should give it a try. We _were_ pretty hungry. But I barely finished one, while my mum... She _won_ the contest.”

 

“Wow, really?!”

 

“Yeah! I couldn't believe it,” Alistair laughed. “She won a first place ribbon, a huge gift basket, and a box of really old wine. When our driver arrived to pick us up, her face was completely covered in cream and berries. I can still remember the shocked look on his face. And she wasn't even embarrassed! She just laughed and said _“after a feast like that, I think it's time for some coffee”_. We spent the rest of the day at the fair before finally heading home. It was great.”

 

He was smiling brighter than Finn had seen him all day, and he couldn't help but return it. “That was a brilliant story. And it had pie, so that makes it even better!”

 

Alistair's smile softened a little. “It's strange to talk about her like that. I mean I miss her a lot, but I want to remember her. Sometimes it's like my father wants to forget she ever existed.” He looked down and sighed. “That's why I can never talk to him about this stuff.”

 

“Isn't there anyone you can talk to about this stuff? An aunty or granny?” He shook his head and Finn hummed. “I sometimes talk to my granny's dog when we come to visit. Maybe you could try that. Do you have a dog?”

 

“No... But there's Abrax,” Alistair answered. At Finn's questioning look he elaborated. “My horse. I suppose I could try talking to him about it. He's... really the only friend I have.”

 

Finn pouted. “What about me?”

 

The other boy's eyes widened and he looked at him. “Are we... I didn't think... We're friends?!”

 

“Yeah. I like you,” he said, crossing his legs and smiling. “Do you wanna be friends?”

 

Alistair straightened and nodded. “Yes. Definitely!”

 

“Great,” Finn grinned before hopping to his feet when he saw how dusty the sky had gotten. He humphed. “Awh. It's getting dark. We should probably head back.”

 

“We probably should,” Alistair agreed, also getting up. He was smiling brilliantly all the way back to the river.

 

When it came to parting ways, the other boy carefully handed their shared bucket over to Finn. “Will you be able to carry it back to your house?”

 

“Course!” he huffed, indignant. Truthfully, it was quite heavy. But he would manage! “Oh. And my granny says she'll make blueberry pie with these. I'll bring some back here for you tomorrow.”

 

Alistair's eyebrows shot up. “We're meeting up tomorrow?”  


“Sure! I can bring my granny's dog and we can go explore that big tree. I'll show you what a great climber I am,” Finn stated, grinning broadly. The other boy returned the expression.

 

“That sounds... fun,” he laughed. “Same time as today?”

 

“Yup. See you then,” Finn said, waving after him.

 

* * *

 

“...You're leaving tomorrow?”

 

Finn felt guilty. He had asked, even pleaded with his mother to stay in his granny's for a little while longer. But she said her and his father couldn't stay away from work that long. He offered to make his own way home, to which she simply patted him on the head and told him to say his goodbyes.

 

Still, the look on Alistair's face when he told him made Finn want to try begging her anew.

 

He nodded sadly. “Yeah. I-I'm sorry. I really wanted to stay but my mam says she and Dad need to get back to work on Monday.” Alistair was looking at his feet and Finn chewed his lip. “She said we should exchange addresses. Then we could stay pen pals. What do you think?”

 

“I guess...” he mumbled. “Wouldn't be the same though.”

 

Finn kicked at the grass. “Guess not.”

 

They had practically spent the entire week together. Finn had seen more of Alistair since he'd first arrived than he had his own family. He couldn't understand how the time had gone by so quickly. His thoughts were suddenly cut short when he felt his shoulders being grabbed. Finn blinked in surprise. Alistair was hugging him. He stood frozen for a second before slowly returning it.

 

After a moment, the other boy mumbled, “You're the first real friend I've ever had.”

 

“Ever?” he asked, surprised. He felt Alistair nod.

 

“And you listened to me. I don't... I hate that you need to leave, but we can try to be pen pals if you want. I don't want to stop being friends.” His words were slightly muffled by Finn's jumper, but even then he could hear the other boy was close to tears.

 

He nodded. “Yeah, okay. I still need to learn how to spell “England” though.”

 

Alistair laughed and Finn smiled.

 

* * *

 

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated. :D

 

 


	2. Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read, review, enjoy! :D

Alistair drew in a deep breath, drinking in the peace and quiet of the valley. It was a relief to leave behind the stagnant chatter and humdrum music of the party. While he understood his father sometimes needed to present a certain image – play the good host, act as a true paragon of high society – it didn't leave him feeling any less jaded with the whole process. There were only so many times he could put on a polite smile and move through the same routine when one of the guests' daughters asked him for a dance. In the past hour, Alistair had moved through about fifteen different variations of the waltz. His feet were killing him.

He hadn't bothered bringing his phone with him upon leaving the house. He knew his father certainly wouldn't miss his presence. More likely May would be the one to hunt him down if he stayed away for too long.

"Maybe I can get ten minutes to myself before then," he muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he wandered down the hill to the edge of the river.

Alistair aimlessly followed the path of the stream for a while. It had been some years since he'd last visited the river. Not since he was nine or ten. Granted, he had spent little time in their country-house over the past six years, but even so...

"Crap!"

He hadn't been paying full attention to his surroundings – gaze instead lazily fixed on the sparkling stream next to him – so when the new voice suddenly cut through the silence of the hillside, Alistair couldn't help but jump in surprise. His gaze snapped toward the opposite side of the river a few yards ahead. He saw a boy make a fumbling attempt to catch something before – with a undignified squawk – he fell in. He managed to keep one arm clear of the water, holding what looked to be a mobile phone above the surface.

Alistair stopped walking just as the other boy's head resurfaced with a splash.

"Ouch!" he heard him splutter. Then a sigh of relief left him. "Yes. Saved it."

"I hope you're not referring to your pride," Alistair spoke before he could stop himself. The other boy stiffened and promptly scrambled to his feet; his clothes and hair were completely soaked. He stared owlishly up at Alistair for a moment before responding.

"Ugh... Easier to salvage my pride than a phone," he simply answered, looking only mildly embarrassed about the situation. Alistair had to give him credit for that. He then shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "Also not as expensive."

Alistair simply hummed and nodded towards him. "Are you okay?"

"Eh. As you said, only thing bruised is my pride. And... maybe by shoulder." He grimaced and moved up onto his side of the riverbank. Alistair noted the boy didn't look that much younger than him, with light brown hair and a slightly ruddy complexion.

He nodded and figured that should be his cue to move on. Or possibly head back to the house before he was missed. But for some reason, Alistair didn't budge. He couldn't put his finger on why, but something about the situation rang oddly familiar to him.

The other boy had decided to seat himself on a part of the grass bathed in sunlight, likely hoping to dry off. It wasan unusually hot day for April.

"What were you..." he started to ask, but quickly stopped when he realised he was being pointlessly nosy.

"What?" the boy asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Alistair mentally shrugged.

"How did you end up almost dropping your phone into the river in the first place?"

He took a second to awkwardly muss up his hair. "I... Was sort of distracted while texting. Ended up walking too close to the riverbank. My foot hit a stone and... ah, you can guess the rest."

"That takes a special kind of clumsy," Alistair noted. Then winced. It wasn't like him to be so blunt. But the other boy only laughed.

"And naturally that'd be the point where you choose to show up. Life's random, mm?"

He blinked once before his eyes flashed in amusement. "True enough."

Again, there was a silence that was undoubtably his signal to leave. And again, for some reason, he didn't. There was a niggling question forming at the back of his mind while he slowly looked between the other boy and the river. He'd since returned to his phone, but kept glancing up confusedly at Alistair; probably wondering – like himself – why he was still there.

"At the risk of sounding like an interrogator, you're not from around here are you?"

"Ugh, nope," the boy didn't miss a beat in piping back. "And I'm guessing neither are you by the sounds of your accent. London, yeah?"

Alistair huffed in amusement and nodded. "Correct. And I presume you're from Ireland. Just here for the weekend too?"

"Dublin to be exact. And yep. Visiting my Gran," he replied, absently gesturing towards the cottage sitting at the top of the hill behind him.

The question Alistair had been pondering suddenly presented itself to him in bold, flashing letters. He narrowed his eyes in consideration. "Hmm," was all he said, and for some reason took that as his cue to resume walking.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other boy suddenly look up. As though an epiphany had suddenly struck. He stared after Alistair and asked, "So... You're visiting relatives too?"

"No. We own the house beyond the trees," he simply answered without looking back.

"The... the huge one?"

"Yep."

When neither of them said anything else, Alistair stopped to glance over his shoulder. The boy was frowning doubtfully at him.

"...Um. You're not...? I mean... You wouldn't happen to be... It'd be a hell of a coincidence if you were, but...-"

"Finn."

He stared at him with wide eyes.

"Alistair...?"

Alistair smiled what was probably his first real one of the day. "Like you said. Life's random."

 

* * *

  

One hour on and any lingering thoughts of returning to the party had all but vacated Alistair's mind. If May hadn't sent someone to retrieve him yet – or hadn't come barrelling down the hillside herself – he could assume revelries had continued without him. But when a loud rumble suddenly cut short Finn's colourfully-worded spiel about the trials and tribulations of having a younger sister, the mountains of assorted finger-foods waiting back in dinning hall were suddenly all he could think of.

"Nice," Finn laughed. "Feeling peckish?"

Alistair scowled a little and grumbled, "I haven't eaten anything since nine o'clock this morning."

"How did you manage that? Didn't that do of yours have any fancy-pants delicacy crap?"

He snorted at Finn's apt assessment. "Yes. But when you're constantly being ushered from point-a to point-b by whomever decides they need me to put in a good word for them with my father, befriend their son, or dance with their daughter... There's little time left for simple luxuries. Like eating."

"How very shitty," Finn observed, grinning crookedly. "But when you manage to escape, your first instinct is to wander into the English wilderness as opposed to the kitchen?"

"I would've just got caught if I stayed there." He returned the expression. "Besides, if I had, I wouldn't have encountered my long lost pen pal. What's it been? Five years since our last correspondence?"

"Eh, more like four and a half," he replied, leaning back on his hands. His clothes had mostly dried under the rays of the son. "We were both kind of shit at that, weren't we?"

"Not at first," Alistair said. "But when we went back to school... It took a while, but I eventually started to make friends. Things got better shortly after that. And busier. With each new year the schoolwork grew, as did my father's expectations. That may have been part of why my letters began to taper off. What's your excuse?"

Finn scratched his head. "Umm... The attention span of a seven year old?"

Alistair shoved him and they both snickered. His stomach suddenly gave a fresh growl and Finn stood up. Alistair shot him a questioning look and he smiled. "Don't move. Be back in two minutes."

He nodded and decided to lay back on the grass while waiting. The mid-day sun was beaming down and after a minute he grimaced. It was too hot for a damn three-piece suit. Alistair divested himself of his suit jacket and left it on the grass in a relatively neat pile.

"I was about to say you looked like you were cooking in that thing."

He tilted his head back to see Finn shambling down the hill, arms laden with...

Alistair's eyes widened. "Please tell me that is what I think it is."

Finn grinned broadly and dropped down next to him. "And what do you think it is?"

"Food?"

"Not just  _food_. My gran's best leftovers," he stated with pride. Finn opened the large plastic container and nudged it towards Alistair. "Not fancy-shmancy gourmet, but I think it should do the job. Dig in."

"Finn, you're a saint," he laughed, immediately selecting a generously filled baguette from the box. Within minutes, he'd devoured almost half of it. "Damn, this is great. Is it too soon to say I think I love you?"

"Depends on whether you're talking to me or the roll."

"I haven't eaten in almost seven hours. I'm not in a good place to make that kind of distinction."

He snorted and grabbed a muffin from the box. "Noted."

Upon finishing his sandwich, Alistair ferreted out a what looked like a mouthwatering slice of cheesecake. "Wow. Did your grandmother make all of this?"

"Most of it. I helped a little."

That got him to raise an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

" _Yeah_ ," he replied, a sliver of defensiveness colouring his tone. Alistair forced himself to keep from snickering.

"Which stuff did you help with then?" he asked instead.

"Threw together the sandwiches this morning. And um, I helped her make the cheesecake last night."

Alistair had just taken a bite of said cake. "Really? This is amazing."

"Mmhm. Very funny."

"No seriously. It's great!"

Finn wordlessly shrugged while his cheeks coloured a little. They both jolted when a sudden high-pitched bleep sounded. Alistair raised an eyebrow as Finn sucked in a nervous breath and retrieved his phone from the grass. His brow was furrowed while he looked over the screen.

After a minute, Alistair decided to break the silence. "Bad news?"

Finn looked back over at him, as though he'd forgotten he was there, and hastily put the phone away. "No... Umm, just a friend..."

"Uh-huh. Because you looked like you were close to having a coronary when you read it," he dryly pointed out.

"Yeah, well... It's a girl," he mumbled, so quietly Alistair almost had to lean in to hear. When he did, an amused grin slowly spread across his face.

"Are you blushing?"

"Piss off," Finn grumbled while glaring daggers at the river ahead.

"Defensive," Alistair chuckled. "You must like her."

He sighed. "To be honest, I don't know her  _that_  well. We only met about a week ago. She's in a different school and a year ahead of me, so..."

"How did you meet then?"

"We go to the same place for piano lessons."

"You play the piano?"

"Yeah. She was early for her own class and heard me playing. For some reason she took it as incentive to ask me out."

"Impressive. So, I take it you're nervous about the prospect of going out with an "older woman", as it were?"

"Absolutely terrified," he replied, smiling weakly. "And it doesn't help that I..."

He trailed off and Alistair frowned curiously. "What?"

"I've... um... I've never..."

"Gone on a date?"

"Yeah... Or... done that other thing..."

There was a moment of silence where he simply stared at Finn. "You've never kissed anyone," he stated.

"That about sums it up, yeah." Despite his relatively casual tone, Finn's face was about as red as a tomato.

"Just never had the opportunity, or...?"

"Sort of."

"And you're nervous she'll be older and therefore more experienced." Again it was a statement rather than a question. But Finn nodded.

"Yeah. And I've got a good position in my year as someone no one really pays attention to. Word travels fast between schools, and I'm worried my... lack of skills will be a point of teasing for the remainder of my secondary school days."

Alistair snorted. "You may be blowing that out of proportion."

"Hey, teenagers will roll with whatever they think will get the biggest laugh. Depending on how funny she spins the story, I could be looking at a  _long_  three years to come."

"Well, there are worse things to be teased for, I'm sure," he said, trying to sound supportive but coming across as far too amused. Finn picked up on it and levelled a baleful glower at him. Alistair lifted his hands in mock-appeasement and laughed. "Or maybe you could find someone to practice on?"

Finn outright scoffed at that.

"Yeah right. That'd be great. Only problem is that the date is literally two days after I arrive back home."

"You don't know any girls you could ask before then?"

"Nope. My only friends are boys."

Alistair pondered for a second before responding in a tone that could have been interpreted as either joking or serious. "Well... From what I hear, girls sometimes practice on each other before kissing boys don't they?"

Finn was quiet for a second before awkwardly clearing his throat.

"Umm... yeah. My friends are great and all, but even they have their limits." He gave a slightly forced laugh. "Plus, even if they  _did_  agree to something like that, thing's would just be weird afterwards. I don't have so many friends that I'm prepared to alienate the few I do."

"Hah. Right," Alistair replied, rubbing the back of his head. Neither of them were looking at each other. He ate the last of the cheesecake and saw Finn produce a thermos. "A hot drink in this weather?"

"It's milk-chocolate. Cold." He drank a little from the cup before glancing over at Alistair. "Want some?"

He  _was_  a little thirsty after the cake. Though he doubted milk-chocolate would be a particularly rehydrating beverage, it was better than nothing. Alistair accepted the cup and took a sip. "Huh. Can't remember when I last tasted this drink hot, much less cold. Oddly refreshing."

Finn smiled but it disappeared the next second. He was staring at the grass ahead of him with a troubled frown. Alistair felt a wash of sympathy for him. He remembered how nervous he'd been before his first date. And he'd at least been going into that with  _some_  knowledge of kissing. Spin-the-bottle at Felicia Barlow's thirteenth birthday party had given him quite a bit of early tutelage in that area.

"Are you sure there's no one you can use to practice?" he asked, handing him back the cup. Maybe he could return to the house and convince one of the girl's he'd danced with to do him a favour.

Finn laughed morosely and took another gulp. "Nah. Unless  _you're_  offering..."

A pregnant silence immediately followed.

It took Finn a moment before he seemed to realise what he said, instantly slapping a hand to his mouth and cursing. "Shit. I didn't mean it like... I-I meant if you knew any girls or... you know? It wasn't... meant to sound like-"

"Sure."

Wait. What?

"Wait. What?" he asked aloud, eyes widening. Had he just said that?

Finn mirrored his expression. "What?"

"What?"

They stared at each other.

"Did you say...?"

He let the sentence trail off into nothing. Alistair fought to keep his expression neutral, though he could feel his cheeks heating up.

"...I might have."

"In a... sarcastic sense or...?"

"Depends on your response, I suppose."

Where the hell were these words coming from? Had some divine entity just up and decided to take Alistair's body for a joy-ride? He was equal parts amazed at how calmly he was treating the whole situation and horrified at what he was saying. As though he hadn't just offered to teach another boy – one who was, by all accounts, mostly a stranger to him – how to kiss.

Finn toyed with the cup in his hands. "Well... I mean... If you  _were_  joking. Haha, good one," he laughed weakly, lightly punching Alistair in the arm. "But, ugh. If you were being serious... And I may or may not be saying this in a joking way too! I guess... I mean it's not like we see each other regularly or anything. So – if we're not both being sarcastic – it wouldn't be  _that_ awkward afterwards. Or at least, it won't be the kind of awkward where you have to live with it on a daily basis." He blinked before adding, "Again, provided we were being serious."

Alistair couldn't believe he'd actually been able to follow that. He nodded stiffly. "Very true. And – provided we're both being serious – it's not like anyone else is around. And, uhm, what happens at the river, stays at the river, right?"

Finn managed a genuine, albeit rather high-pitched laugh at that. They didn't speak for another minute, wherein Alistair put some serious thought into retracting his offer. Honestly, the whole situation was utterly bizarre. 'Oh, hi! I remember you. First real friend growing up – blueberries, frogspawn? Ah, good times. Thanks for sharing your food with me by the way. How about I repay you by offering free tongue-tango lessons?'

He made a face which Finn must have interpreted as having second thoughts. "You know what, it's grand," he quickly said, smiling sheepishly. "I, ugh, really don't want you to do something you don't-"

"I don't mind, Finn."

Okay. Seriously. Who the hell kept taking control of his voice? It was getting damn ridiculous.

Finn was looking at him uncertainly. "It's just that..."

"Look. Like you said, if it's awkward as hell, chances of us seeing each other again any time soon are slim to none," he stated with a shrug. "And if we do, we just don't bring it up. Simple."

Finn was chewing his lip and looking intermittently between the river and his shoes. After a second, Alistair added, "And I'm definitely not  _expecting_  a certain answer from you. Nor will I be offended, regardless. I just offered because..." he trailed off, suddenly at a loss. Why  _had_  he offered? Alistair quickly shook the troubling question and ran a hand through his hair. "I... I imagine it might help. The offer's there if you want it. It's up to you."

"...Are you sure?"

The question actually caught him off guard. He'd been expecting a polite no. Whether it displeased or gladdened him, he couldn't say: nor did he particularly want to. Alistair gave a slight smile. "Sure."

Finn weakly returned it. "Well, if you're sure you're sure. Okay."

"Alright then."

They both sat in immobile silence before Finn muttered, "So um... how should we go about this?"

Alistair straightened up, trying to assume a businesslike air. "A good way to start is by facing each other."

"Oh. Right. Yeah, sure. That makes sense." Finn also pushed himself upright, gingerly turning to face him. His eyes were still focused on the grass. "Now what?"

He honestly didn't know whether to find Finn's timidness endearing or exasperating. Alistair kept himself from rolling his eyes and shuffled forward so their knees were just touching, ignoring how the other automatically stiffened at the contact.

"This is the part where the lips come together," he plainly stated. "I'd have hoped you would know that much."

Some of Finn's nervousness drained and a flicker of umbrage showed as he finally met him in the eye. "I do!" he snapped. "I just... Do I just go in for it? Straight away?"

"If you want."

A second too late, Alistair realised the troubling wording Finn had used. Clearly eager to get the initial awkwardness over with, he immediately took the other's assent and surged forward to clumsily bring their lips together. It more more of a face-bump mingled with a head-butt than anything.

They both instantly flinched backwards with matching curses. "Shit! S-Sorry," Finn stammered, nursing his nose.

"Okay. First pointer," Alistair grunted, rubbing his now throbbing forehead. "In this context, to "just go in for it" does not equate to how you would while competitively bobbing for apples."

Finn nodded sharply, looking perfectly shamefaced.

"It's more like... Like dipping one toe into a hot bath before fully settling in."

Some form of understanding registered on Finn's face. "So... slow at first?"

"For a novice like yourself,  _yes_." He nodded firmly. "Try again."

Much slower this time, they leant in, Alistair meeting Finn halfway. It was just as rigid and bumbling as before; the only plus side was the lack of pain. He pulled back and frowned.

"You're acting like a statue, Finn. Relax. Move your lips and loosen up your face."

Finn tilted his head. "How should I... m-move my lips?"

"Sort of like you're trying to massage the other person's. Just... try to follow what I do."

He nodded and they tried again. It was slightly better. But within seconds, Alistair had to correct him once more. "Alright, now you're moving your lips too much. And too hard."

"B-But you said-"

"You want to  _lightly_  and  _slowly_  massage the other person's. Not give them a frenzied deep tissue."

Finn swallowed. "Okay."

Again, their lips connected. It was interesting how the whole thing had quickly transformed from dauntingly embarrassing, to tediously exasperating. Though Alistair did have to commend Finn's quick learning. He listened to his advice and generally didn't make the same mistakes more than once. It was better from where he started, but there was still several hundred things wrong with it. First and foremost...

"You need to close your eyes," he said after they'd stopped for the fifth time.

"Why? It doesn't affect the kiss, does it?"

"No, but trust me. Nothing is more off-putting than kissing someone whose eyes are wide open. It makes it seem like they're not enjoying it."

"Oh," he muttered.

"There are also some other things... Well, a lot of things really." He smiled apologetically when Finn looked down, despondent. "But to be honest, I think those mostly come from the fact that you're not enjoying it. Or relaxed. When you kiss your date, I doubt those will be as much of an issue."

His eyes flicked up and he nodded slowly. Alistair mentally groaned. Damn it. No teenage boy should have been able to utilise the kicked puppy expression so masterfully. Well, there was one more thing he could try...

"Alright. I've one last idea that could help."

Finn's eyes instantly lit up. "Yeah?"

"I could show you how I would kiss a girl, and you can try to replicate it," he explained. Truthfully, Alistair knew it wouldn't be as simple as that. But if Finn could experience a proper kiss before his date, he'd be more confident, relaxed, and – in theory – more comfortable about the whole thing.

Finn smiled and nodded. "That sounds like a good idea."

"Want to try it?"

"Sure."

Alistair moved in closer, which seemed to surprise Finn. Their faces were now a few scant inches apart. He absently noted the stone-grey colour of Finn's eyes and how his cheeks had a light dusting of freckles beneath the blush.

"You don't have to do anything, ok? Just relax and follow my lead," he murmured, angling his face just over him; the fact that he was almost a head taller made this easier. Finn gave a slight nod. Alistair hesitated for a second before closing the distance between them and capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

As before, Finn was slightly tense at first. It took him a second before he began to respond. Alistair closed his eyes and lifted one hand to gently but firmly tilt his head to the side. Bumping noses was not fun. There was a notable hitch to Finn's breathing as he did so. Alistair's hand then moved around to settle on the back of his head; an almost unconscious movement, though it did help him direct the kiss that much easier. Slowly, the tension seemed to leave Finn's body and he relaxed into it. Alistair gently melded their lips together, increasing the pressure every now and then. It was still an utterly chaste kiss, but at least a relatively pleasant one.

He almost jumped in surprise when he felt Finn's tongue touch his bottom lip. Alistair's eyes shot open at the same time Finn's did, clearly shocked at his own bold action. He could feel him begin to pull back, but let him get no further than a few inches before Alistair used the hand on his head to keep him in place.

"I'm sorry I-"

"Finn. Shut up and close your eyes."

Finn blinked. Slowly the red in his cheeks darkened and he nodded. The next second, Alistair resumed the kiss. He gently gripped the back of his head and ran his tongue over Finn's lips, earning a startled jolt. After their less than promising beginning, Alistair hadn't expected to move onto this any time soon. But if Finn was ready to progress, he was perfectly happy-  _willing_! Perfectly  _willing_  to comply.

Alistair's tongue slipped past his lips to trace over teeth and gums. Finn gave a small twitch but seemed to know what he wanted, charily opening his mouth. A gasp left him when he began to meticulously explore the inside. He could immediately taste the remains of the chocolate milk from earlier. Finn tensed up anew and gave a small jump when Alistair's tongue attempted to coax his into motion. After a second of uncertainty, he complied.

It wasn't long before the remaining tension in his frame quickly dissipated.

They both slowly melted into the kiss. Every now and then they would knock teeth or bump noses, but always simply brushed it off and continued from where they were. It wasn't a perfect kiss. Technically speaking, there were probably dozens of things wrong with it. Yet somehow, in that instant, it was probably one of the best Alistair had ever had. And he couldn't even say why.

He barely registered how his fingers had tangled themselves in Finn's hair; his other hand had since lifted to cup his cheek. He also vaguely noted the feeling of hands lightly gripping the material of his shirt. Alistair wasn't sure how long it lasted, but for that brief window in time, his mind had gone completely blank. All the day-to-day worries and pressures that were his life had lifted, to be solely replaced by the sensation of the kiss.

But it had to end at some point. Alistair didn't know which of them made the noise – Finn, probably – but the breathy moan was enough to rent the otherwise still silence of the hillside. Reality came crashing back and they both froze. Alistair slowly opened his eyes to see a pair of cloudy grey ones staring back at him.

Almost simultaneously, they leapt away from each other and scrambled backwards. Alistair's breathing was ragged and he could hear Finn softly panting from where he was sitting a few feet away. How long had they been kissing?

"Ah... W-wow... That was... um... Heh. Yeah," Finn breathlessly stammered out. Alistair nodded quickly and cleared his throat.

"Yep. Uh-huh. That... That certainly was." He almost cringed at how damn husky his own voice sounded.

For a moment they both simply sat there, neither so much at glancing over at the other. Eventually, just as Alistair was about to speak, Finn's voice cut him off.

"So. Ah. How... How did I do?"

He was looking at Alistair, entire face flushed.

"What's the girl's name?"

"Sarah."

Alistair breathed a laugh. "Well, Finn. I imagine Sarah's going to be very happy."

 

* * *

 

It was almost sunset when the pair finally came to saying their goodbyes. The valley was cast in a rich orange glow while the torrid heat of the day had simmered to a fresh, spring breeze.

"So. Back to the ball before Cinderella run's off without her shoe?"

Alistair stared blankly at him. "You watch too much Disney."

"It's impossible to watch too much Disney," Finn scoffed, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. "Just like it's impossible to eat too many custard creams."

Alistair decided to refrain from correcting the obvious lapse in logic of that statement and instead gave a bemused laugh. "Whatever you say, mate."

"Well... Guess this is it, eh?"

Alistair threw his suit jacket back on. "Guess so. Hey, maybe I'll see you in another six years?"

"It's a date," Finn laughed. Then paused, cleared his throat and looked away. "Well then! I-I'd better be off. Mam'll throw a fit if I'm late for dinner."

"Of course," Alistair chuckled. "Thanks again for the food. Oh, and good luck with Sarah."

"Thanks! And good luck with your exams next year," he said, grinning broadly. "I'm sure you'll do great."

Such blind confidence was a foreign concept to Alistair. He was more used to rigid expectations. Still, he found himself smiling. "Thanks, Finn. Take care, yeah?"

"You too."

He carefully moved back across the river's uneven stepping stones. Once on the other side, Finn's voice caught his attention yet again.

"Alistair..."

He turned to see him staring at his shoes. Even from several yards away, Alistair could tell his cheeks were red as cherries.

"Th-Thanks for... Umm... you know," he muttered, looking up to shoot him an awkward smile.

Alistair scratched his head and returned it. "No problem. Glad to have... been of service."

Sharing a final discomfited laugh, the pair then promptly turned and all but ran back in the direction of their respective households.

 

* * *

 


	3. Snowfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are always appreciated!

The snow crunched softly beneath Finn's boots as he trudged down the thickly blanketed hillside. Jameson tugged incessantly on his leash and he let himself be dragged along at a faster pace by the pitbull-terrier. His phone bleeped and Finn retrieved it from his pocket. There were two new texts. He read the one from Sarah first.

_Hey babes! Hope you're having fun. I hear it's snowing over there! Lucky. ;) Call me if you get a chance? xxx_

Finn felt a familiar feeling well up in his gut. That irksome guilt. He kept telling himself that she'd lose interest in him upon starting college; older men, more options and all that. It's why he kept putting off having "the talk" with her. But things... didn't seem to be going that way. And considering her recent hinting that he apply to the same college as she, something told Finn he'd need to change his game plan pretty soon. All his close friends and mother already knew he was gay. Hell, they'd probably known before he had. How Sarah had remained oblivious for an entire year, he hadn't the foggiest.

Finn sighed and checked the next text. From Tomas.

_Hey man, how's England? Got a new PS2 for Christmas and an entire arsenal of games to go with it. Fuck, I love being the youngest. Spoiled like hell. So. Next Monday. You. Me. Chris. Mark. PS marathon with pizza and beer. You in, bitch?_

A grin spread across his face and he instantly replied. He was indeed in. And Tomas could shove that spoiled-brat attitude up his ass. While doing this, Finn had failed to notice how they'd slowed to a stop. Jameson sniffed the air and fidgeted restlessly. After pawing at the ground for a second, the dog decided to continue their walk without him. The leash slipped from his lax grip and Finn's head snapped up.

"Shit! Jameson, no. Stay!"

But the dog listened to one voice, and that was his grandmother's. He bolted off down the hillside as Finn gave chase, excitedly running along the riverbank. Finn scrambled after him, trying not to slip and failing. Chances were Jameson would have kept running for God knows how long if it hadn't been for a matter of sheer coincidence. A small bridge lay further down where the river widened. A bridge on which someone was standing.

And Jameson  _loved_  strangers.

Finn groaned as he saw the dog take a sharp turn and race straight up to them. The person – to their credit – didn't run screaming. By the time Finn reached the bridge, the dog was hopping excitedly at the young man. He struggled to catch his breath and grabbed ahold of the leash, tugging the dog back.

"S-Sorry about that," he got out, lungs burning from the cold air he'd ingested. "Damn dog loves people. Hope he didn't give you a scare."

A dry snort left the man and – to Finn's surprise – he leant down to scratch Jameson behind the ear. "It's fine. I'm used to dogs like rottweilers, dobermans, and bull terriers. He's practically a kitten compared to them."

"Oh...kay. Well, um. Sorry again."

"No problem," he replied, standing upright and looking over at Finn.

Both their eyes went almost comically wide.

_Ho-ly crap._

Jameson – the wily little shit – used Finn's momentary surprise to his advantage. A fresh yank on the leash and the dog broke free; Finn, still gripping it, was sharply tugged to one side and found himself gracelessly landing on his ass in the snow.

"Argh! Damn it," he hissed, leaping up and away from the cold biting through his jeans. Glaring after the dog, Finn yelled, "You're an asshole, Jameson!"

"Graceful as ever, Finn."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up," he grumbled, dusting the snow from his pants and watching Jameson from the corner of his eye. While his grandmother had said it was okay to let the dogs loose, Finn was wary of letting Jameson wander far in the current weather. Though the dog seemed content with snapping at the falling snow, pausing intermittently to piss on a random tree.

"So... rottweilers?" he asked, finally looking back over at Alistair with raised eyebrows. The other boy had changed only slightly since their last meeting two years ago. Slightly taller, but with significantly more muscle mass. Even beneath the layers for the cold, Finn could tell he was pretty well built. He'd also grown his hair out a bit; not unruly, but more tousled. Alistair shrugged, leaning back against the bridge's snow-covered rail.

"Guard dogs. Not pets." A slight smile crooked his expression. "What brings you out here?"

Finn jerked his head in Jameson's direction. "Exercise. You?"

"Fresh air," Alistair replied, retrieving a box of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He tilted it in Finn's direction, receiving a slight head shake in response. "So... How've you been?"

"Umm. Good! You?"

"Same."

A not entirely comfortable silence descended and Finn distracted himself by glancing over at the dog now barking from the base of a tree.  _Must have seen a squirrel_. Meanwhile Alistair lit himself a cigarette and seemed just as preoccupied with avoiding Finn's gaze as he was his.

"Ugh, how'd your exams go?" he asked after a minute. Finn never could stand awkward silences.

The question earned him a look of confusion quickly followed by one of surprise. "Ah, that's right... I was about to do them last time we met." He snorted to himself and took a drag from the cigarette. "They went... pretty much as expected, I suppose."

"You passed?"

"...Yeah."

Finn stared at him shrewdly for a moment. "You got all A's, didn't you?" The barest hint of a grin was the only response he got, to which he rolled his eyes. "Of course you did." He huffed and stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, leaning back against the bridge rail opposite him. "So did you get to take a year off like you wanted?"

Alistair frowned and shook his head. "No. My father felt that a year was too long and that by the time I returned, I'd been in a very... mmm,  _lazy_  mindset." He sighed. "Unsurprising, but disappointing nonetheless."

"Could always do it after college?"

Alistair gave a non-committal shrug. "You're in sixth year now, yes?"

"Fifth. Scared shitless about going into sixth next year though."

"Ah, it's not so bad."

"...Says the straight A student. Oh, did you get into Oxford?"

"Of course," he snorted, smiling crookedly. "That was always a given. I probably could have gotten straight D's and still would have gotten in. My father's one of the universities top benefactors, after all."

Finn made a face, unsure of how to respond to that. "That's... nice."

* * *

After about a half-hour of intermittent small talk, Finn had come to the grim realisation that he was seeing a significantly different side to Alistair. And already he kind of hated him. Well, okay. Hate was a strong word. It was mainly frustrating because he knew Alistair was a good guy. Or at least he believed he was a good guy. He was probably just going through some kind of... phase. Maybe his friends in university were a bad influence or something.

Regardless, it soon became clear that any mention of Oxford and he seemed to morph before Finn's very eyes, changing into some proud, stuck-up, prat. He nodded along with Alistair's latest spiel. Something about him being invited to some Bullingdon Club, and making the rowing team.

"Wow. That's awesome," he droned out, looking about as enraptured as he felt.

Alistair was clearly oblivious Finn's own lack of lustre, so continued. "It was a pretty gruelling process. Dozens of others didn't even make it to the final round. At the end it was between me and a scholarship student. And well... it doesn't take a genius to figure out how that was going to go."

 _That_  caught Finn's attention. He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well. It's obvious isn't it?" he looked at him, eyebrows raised. "In terms of skill we were more or less tied. But he was of a... you know."

"No. I don't. Enlighten me?"

"From a less... Well. Wealthy background?"

"Meaning?"

"You know... Working class."

Finn simply stared at him, taking a moment to process what he said. Once he realised he hadn't misheard him, a disgusted look spread across his face. Alistair appeared slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny and scowled.

"What? It's hardly a big deal. He still made one of the other rowing teams."

"You seriously don't see anything wrong with that process of elimination?"

Alistair crossed his arms and frowned. "I didn't ask them to do it, Finn. That's just how things work."

After a second Finn shook his head and pushed away from the railing. "Right. Well then its a good thing I could never get into Oxford in a million years. By the sounds of it, those of us from a "working class" background would get eaten alive by the pecking order," he sardonically muttered, looking around for Jameson. It was getting late, and he was getting sick of listening to Alistair's prattle. Time to head home.

"What's your problem?" Alistair snapped.

" _I'm_  not the one with the problem, Alistair." He turned and trudged down the bridge, ignoring the other hot on his heels. "You and your high and mighty posse are the ones who need to get over yourselves."

"What do you... Wait. Seriously?  _That's_  what you're pissed about?"

Finn paused, only because he'd never heard Alistair curse before.

"Why would such a stupid... Why does it even matter to you?"

"Because its a shitty thing to do, and you seem oblivious to that fact. Or you just don't care," Finn stated, turning his glare back on him. Truthfully, Finn was mainly annoyed at himself for never noticing the subtle undertone of snobbishness to Alistair before. It was always there, but always understated. Easy to miss. Now, it seemed to be coming out full force. And it was seriously getting on his nerves.

" _I_  didn't do it. Or ask  _them_  to do it," he said, eyes flashing angrily. "So I don't see why you're getting all pissed off with me over it. What was I supposed to do? Refuse out of protest? Can you honestly tell me if you were in that position, you'd have done that?"

When Finn couldn't think of a sufficient response, Alistair simply scoffed and turned to stalk back to his own house, clearly considering the argument won. Fresh annoyance boiled inside him. If the pair of them had one thing in common, it was that they always liked to have the last word.

And so, without really thinking, Finn scooped up a handful of snow, moulded it into a perfectly round sphere, and chucked it in an overarm throw right at Alistair's back. It exploded in a splatter of white powder, standing out starkly against his black coat. The second it made impact, he froze. Finn's sense of smug satisfaction was short-lived as he slowly turned around. Suffice to say, Alistair's ability to glare had only grown more potent the older he got.

"Finn... Did you just throw a snowball at me?"

In retrospect, Finn hadn't really thought things through and wasn't sure what he should do next.

"...Maybe?"

For a second he thought Alistair was going to simply turn away and leave, which would sufficiently make Finn look like the biggest dumb-ass on the planet. But the other boy didn't move. Instead, his intense gaze slowly shifted from Finn to the snow at his feet. A calculating gleam came into his eyes.

Finn barely had the time to cover his face before another snowball was hurled back at him. It connected with his shoulder and Finn warily lifted his head, gaping at Alistair. Something close to a smile tugged at his expression.

"Alistair... Did you just return fire?"

The other looked utterly nonchalant, but there was a definite hint of a challenge behind his eyes. "Perhaps."

For a second they simply stared one another down. Then, almost simultaneously, they both grinned and dove for cover. The snowball war had begun.

* * *

Another thing Finn and Alistair had in common was that neither of them liked to lose.

Despite the fact that they were both out of breath, both freezing, and both sore from being pelted by icy projectiles, a truce was simply out of the question. For whomever it was that suggested it,  _they_  would be the unofficial loser of the war. And that sure as hell wasn't about to be Finn! Even if he was hungry, cold, and wanted nothing more than to go back to his gran's cottage and get some hot chocolate.

A thwack to the side of his head, courtesy of a finely aimed snowball from Alistair, cut his reverie short.

"Ow, damn it!" he cursed, scrambling behind a tree. "Thought we said to avoid everywhere above the shoulders."

"Your head's too big. It keeps getting in the way," came the breezy reply. Finn snorted, smirking slightly and creating a melon-sized snowball off his own.

"Keep talking, Alistair. The war ain't over yet."

"Just surrender so we can go home," he heard Alistair call out. "You're only delaying the inevitable."

Finn had a comeback on the tip of his tongue, but felt his blood run cold when a new sound caught his notice. A high pitched, distinctly dog-like yelp.

"Jameson!" he yelled, tearing out from behind his tree and sprinting down to the bridge. He scanned every inch of the surrounding area but saw no sign of the pitbull-terrier. Alistair, having noticed his sudden urgency, joined him near the bridge.

"What?"

"I can't see Jameson anywhere!" Finn said, voice catching with panic. Damn it. Why did he take his eyes off him? "Shit. He sounded like he might be hurt."

Alistair was silent, eyes quickly tracing over the river. Just as Finn had begun to think the worst, he suddenly exclaimed, "There!"

He was running on ahead before Finn had time to react. His eyes then fell on a hole in the ice covering the river. Jameson must have fallen in while-

"What are you-!" Finn started to say, only to stop short when Alistair abruptly jumped into the river – the water reaching up as far as his knees – and pulled the whimpering dog out of its icy depths. Finn jogged over and took Jameson from him as Alistair scrambled back out. He immediately took off his coat and wrapped it around the shivering dog. His eyes then flicked between Jameson, Alistair, and the other's soaked shoes and trousers. He held the dog tight in one arm, while grabbing Alistair's hand with the other. "Come on."

"W-Where-" his voice stuttered from the cold.

"My gran's cottage is closer than your house. You need to get out of those shoes, and Jameson needs to be warmed up. Let's go."

Alistair didn't protest, and simply let himself be dragged back to the old, country cottage. The second they entered through the backdoor, a rush of pleasant warmth immediately greeted them. But Finn didn't wait to bask in it. He ushered a compliant Alistair into the sitting room where the fireplace was alight.

"Take off your shoes and socks. Only other person here is my sister, and she's in bed with the flu," Finn distractedly muttered, setting Jameson down right in front of the fireplace. He then left without a word, quickly fetching two warm towels from the drier, and a clean set of tracksuit bottoms and wooly socks from his room. He came back to the sitting room and handed the clothes and one of the towels to Alistair.

"Bathroom's around the hall, to the right. You can change there," he informed him, dropping to his knees and setting to drying off Jameson.

"Umm... Thanks."

It was out of worry and not petulance that Finn didn't respond, so focussed was he on rubbing some life back into the worryingly still Jameson. But thankfully by the time Alistair returned, the dog's chest had begun to rise and fall more energetically. His eyes had also opened and he'd given Finn's hand a gentle lick. He grinned down at him and rubbed his head.

"Ada boy. I'll heat up a blanket for you and be back in a second," he said, rising and smiling at Alistair as he passed him by. Wordlessly, he took the wet trousers and socks off him. "Make yourself at home. I'll throw these in the drier for you."

Alistair simply blinked but nodded and continued back to the sitting room. Finn thought it was a little funny how confused and out of place he looked, being completely out of his element. He walked down the hallway, surprised to see Niamh exit the bathroom. She looked like she'd been in bed the entire day. Which, in retrospect, she had.

"Hey," he greeted. "Feeling any better?"

"You arse!"

Finn blinked at her. "Okay... Why?"

"Why would you bring a hot friend like that here... while  _I'm_... like this?!" she whined, leaning against the doorframe and looking perfectly miserable. A grin pulled at Finn's face.

"What happened to the bathroom upstairs?"

Niamh's face flushed and she glared. "Out. Of. Toilet paper. Dick."

Finn couldn't help but laugh as she shoved past him. He could just imagine the mortified look on her face when she ran into Alistair. Like any red-blooded fourteen year old girl, his sister went ape-shit whenever a guy of even remote attractiveness hit her line of sight. And Alistair was... well, an asshole. Or at least, he'd become sort of an asshole. But Finn wasn't so blind that he didn't notice the guy's good looks. Not that he was about to admit that aloud.

He retrieved a blanket and stuck it in the drier for a minute, then returned to the sitting room to find Alistair kneeling in front of the fireplace, petting Jameson. Finn huffed in amusement and joined them, wrapping the dog in the blanket.

After a second of silence, he muttered, "Um... thanks. You know. For jumping in and getting him."

"No problem," he replied.

"Want some hot chocolate or something?"

"Ah... I should probably call May and tell her where I am. But yeah, while I'm waiting, that'd be nice," he said, smiling slightly. Finn returned the expression and nodded.

"Okay. I'll be back in a minute," he hopped up and went to the kitchen. When he returned, he had two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, complete with cream and marshmallows. Alistair had relocated to the couch and accepted his with an appreciative hum.

"Wow. You should consider becoming a barista," he wryly commented. Finn snorted a laugh.

"Yeah, something to fall back on when I inevitably end up failing the leaving cert."

Alistair rose an eyebrow. "You're not going to fail, Finn. Quit being so dramatic."

Well maybe not fail. Finn may not have been a straight A student like Alistair, but he at least managed to average a C in most subjects. Maybe a D in maths. Besides, he more than made up for it in music, never getting anything less than an A in tests or practicals.

"I know. But just because I'm not gonna fail doesn't mean I'm not gonna do shit," he stated, taking a sip from his mug.

"What are you thinking of doing in college anyway?" Alistair asked, sounding slightly amused at Finn's own assurance of his failure.

"Umm... I dunno," Finn shrugged. "Haven't thought about it really."

"Well, you must have some idea."

"Mmmm, nope."

"...Nothing? Seriously?"

"Nah."

Alistair stared at him as though he'd grown another head. Finn frowned.

"What?"

"You haven't thought about it at all?" he repeated, gaping. "How can you not have thought about it? Finn, this is the biggest decision you're ever going to make!"

"I know tha-"

"And you've got barely a year to decide it. You're telling me you have no thoughts whatsoever on what you want to do for the rest of your life?"

"Jesus, now you sound like my guidance counsellor." Finn scowled. "I'm seventeen for God's sake, I've got my whole life to decide what I wanna do."

Alistair scoffed, clearly sceptical of that. "And you're going to do what until you decide? Bum around and freeload off your friends and family."

Finn immediately straightened and glared at him. Why that son of a...

"First of all: it's none of your fucking business what I do with my life. Second: why the fuck do you even care?"

He'd always had a tendency to curse when irked.

Alistair recoiled a bit from Finn's outburst, but quickly recovered and returned his glower, replying snidely, "Well evidently no one else has seen fit to inform you of how the world works. You think people are just going to hand opportunity to you on a silver platter? You need to have a plan if you want to-"

"Has it ever occurred to you that not all of us  _want_  to have our entire lives mapped out in front of us? Some of us just wanna... I dunno, have fun?!" he growled. "I don't know. I... I'll do music or some shit. Something I'm good at!"

"Music?" Alistair replied, his derisive tone causing Finn's face to flush with fresh anger. "Could you possibly think of a  _less_  economically stable profession? Perhaps circus performer. Or magician."

"Oh... You... Just... Fuck you," he spat out, quickly standing up and moving over to the armchair, pointedly looking away from Alistair. If he kept sitting within punching distance, he anticipated he'd do something he'd probably regret.

"Asshole," they both muttered at the same time. Then briefly turned to glare at one another before simultaneously looking away and returning to their hot chocolate.

The doorbell rang five minutes and thirty two seconds later. Finn knew. He'd counted. They had spent the entire time in tense silence. He left his half empty mug on the coffee table and went to the front door, not sparing a backward glance at Alistair.

A woman stood on the other side, probably in her late forties to mid fifties. She was finely dressed, with neatly pinned back red hair and piercing eyes.

Finn instantly felt as though he were under intense scrutiny.

"Good evening," she spoke, voice terse but velvety. "Am I to presume you are Finn?"

"Umm... yep. I am he," he lamely said, shuffling awkwardly. "Can I help you?"

"I believe so. I'm May Waterstone. A pleasure," she said, holding out a gloved hand. Finn stared dumbly at it for a second before realising he was meant to shake it. He quickly did so, trying not to wince at the woman's iron grip.

"Oh. Right, um. Nice to meet you," he said, nodding at her and managing a nervous smile. "Please come in."

She gracefully stepped through the doorway. "Thank you. I shan't keep you. I am here to collect young master Alistair. Is he ready to go?"

Finn barely managed to stifle a snort at the term of address. He cast an annoyed look back in the direction of the sitting room. "Umm, hold on. I'll go get him."

She simply offered a prim nod which he returned before heading down the hallway to the drier. Alistair's clothes were more or less completely dry. He returned to the sitting room and unceremoniously chucked them right in his face.

"Hey!" he spluttered, depositing his own mug on the coffee table and scooping up the clothes. He glared at him. "What the hell, Finn?"

"The "young master's" lift is here," he simply grunted, gracelessly falling back into his chair and picking up his mug.

He could feel Alistair staring at him before grumbling under his breath and moving into the hallway. Muffled words were exchanged between him and May before he heard him head towards the bathroom. He relaxed back in the armchair and took a fresh gulp of hot chocolate. After a few minutes, the sounds of footsteps heading towards the front door caused him to tense. Then groan as he heard them move back into the sitting room.

"What?" he snapped, still not looking at him.

Alistair was quiet for a second before a soft huff left him and he sat on the stool in front of Finn. "I'm sorry, okay. We haven't parted on bad terms before and I don't want to now. So I'm sorry."

Finn slowly turned to look at him. He smelled bullshit.

"And you don't have to apologise. I forgive you too."

"Are you fucking serious?"

Alistair twitched but cast a self-conscious look toward the hallway. Clearly it was a struggle for him to keep his own temper in check. "One of us has to be the mature one."

"What, because your babysitter's here?" he sardonically remarked, not reacting to the harsh glare he received in response. "Here's a newsflash for you, Alistair. I don't have anything to apologise for. You were the one being the overbearing arse."

"I was the...?!" He closed his eyes and drew in a calming breath. Finn could tell it was a struggle for him. It was fun to watch. Almost cathartic. "I'm sorry you feel that way. But just because you're too immature to accept a simple apology, doesn't mean I'm not apologetic."

"Please. You're as about as apologetic as a viral infection."

A scowl slid across Alistair's face and he suddenly stood up, towering over Finn, who couldn't have felt any less threatened if it were a kitten on stilts. He merely grinned up at him. "Oh I'm sorry. Did I ruin your attempt at brokering peace?"

Stiff with silent fury, Alistair simply turned and stalked back in the direction of the hall. But not before Finn muttered an audible, "See you, jerk."

And of course, he refused to let Finn have the last word.

Spinning around, he snarled back at him, "So long, asshole!"

Finn turned and barked, "Fuck you!"

"Fuck you!"

"Dick!" they both yelled in unison, Finn immediately flopping back onto the armchair, and Alistair storming out past a pokerfaced May.

She stood in the hallway for a second before muttering, just loud enough for Finn to hear, "Hm. In nineteen years, I have only ever seen him lose his temper so impressively a handful of times. And have  _never_  heard him use such language on any of those occasions. Interesting."

May sounded neither upset, nor impressed. Just bemused. With that, she cast a final look in Finn's direction before closing the door behind her. Finn snorted into his mug, and met the eyes of a confused Jameson.

"This was all your fault, really."

The dog only whined.

* * *

 


	4. Fishing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the last significant time-skip. From then out out, it'll be your typical event after event type of deal. Hoo-ha! :3

"God, I love this place," Olivia sighed, looking out over the rippling blue water of the harbour. "Couldn't you just stay here forever?"

Alistair distractedly grunted in agreement, though his gaze was wholly fixed on the phone in his hand. Stone's CEO wanted to reschedule the meeting. Again. Those bastards were playing hardball. But if they honestly thought such tactics were going to phase him, they had another thing-

His thoughts derailed when the phone was snatched out of his hands. Alistair looked up into the annoyed face of his fiancé. He smiled meekly and she crossed her arms.

"What happened to "work can wait until tomorrow" and "I just want to spent the day with you"?" she asked, putting on a overly deep voice in an attempt to mimic him. "And really, Alistair. Who arranges business meetings on their birthday?"

He toed the ground guiltily. "I was just...  _He_  texted  _me_. I can't very well ignore such an important business partner, can I?"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Love, you can't keep doing this. That's what assistants, and department managers, and whatever else I'm sure you have are for. Don't drive yourself crazy trying to manage every aspect of the contract. Especially not today."

"I know. Look just... just let me make this call and I promise I'll turn the phone off after that, okay?"

She looked put out, but conceded. Alistair didn't doubt her easy agreement was largely due to it being his birthday. Any other time and Olivia would have lectured his ear off about always putting the company and his father first. He accepted the phone back with a grateful smile.

"I'll turn it off after this. I swear."

"Mmhm, I've heard that before," she grumbled, walking on ahead.

He made the phone-call short and sweet. No, he wasn't willing to reschedule the meeting a third time. No, he wasn't willing to meet with one of the other managing directors of the board. No, he wasn't concerned about any probable negative impact this could have on the future of his own company. Were they? Yes in fact, he  _was_  still available to meet on the date and time they had originally agreed upon. He would see them then.

Alistair smirked to himself as he put the phone away, finger hovering over the power button before instead switching it to silent. When his father had placed him in charge of the dealings with Stone Inc, he knew they were expecting a nervous, inexperienced, weak, pushover who was only sitting where he was due to nepotism of the highest order. It had been quite a thrill to prove them wrong. Alistair knew better than most that if his father hadn't thought he was up to the task, he would not have given it to him. The man was many things but he  _did_   _not_  play favourites with anyone.

Olivia had proceeded further down the harbour and he caught up with her, taking her hand in his. He smiled. "Okay. I'm all yours now."

She huffed. "What makes you think I want you back?"

"Well... Because you're forgiving."

"Hmm, I suppose."

"And warm-hearted."

"Do go on."

Alistair snorted. "And beautiful, and amazing, and wonderful and... Finn?"

"Aww... Wait, what?" she asked, looking up at him with raised eyebrows.

He winced and smiled sheepishly at her. "Nothing. I just... I thought I saw someone I knew." Alistair looked over again, eyes narrowed in focus. A little taller, a little less scrawny, with shaggy hair and a five o'clock shadow. Still, he couldn't help but notice a pretty striking resemblance and... Finn-ness about him.

Olivia curiously followed his gaze. "Where? That guy?"

Alistair didn't answer and instead continued walking down the harbour, unconsciously tugging her along with him. The probable-Finn seemed to be in the process of loading a small boat with various fishing supplies. Another man, older with greying hair – likely his father – was helping him. On closer inspection, he still couldn't say whether or not it was him. Not without...

"Excuse me?" Olivia cut short his thought process, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Who are we talking about?"

He looked between her and the probable-Finn. What did it even matter if it  _was_  him? They hadn't seen each other in six years. And they hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms last time. He opened his mouth to tell Olivia it didn't matter, but instead found himself catching the eye of the man. The second they both made eye contact, Alistair was suddenly left in no doubt that it was definitely him.

Finn seemed to mirror Alistair's earlier scepticism before a look of incredulous surprise spread across his face. This soon gave way to an awkward half-smile. He returned it, lifting one hand in a weak wave.

Olivia's head turned from him to Finn and back again. "So it  _is_  that guy? Who is he?"

"Umm," Alistair began, but trailed off when Finn exchanged a few words with his father and wandered up to them. He had his hands stuffed into his pockets and couldn't have looked any less uncomfortable if he'd been walking on hot coals.

"Hey Alistair," he greeted, grinning sheepishly.

Alistair mirrored the expression. "Hey Finn. How's it going?"

"Good, good. And, um, you?"

"Yep. Great."

They were both quiet, clearly neither wanting to be the first to clear the air. A sharp elbow to his gut drew Alistair's attention and he glanced down to see Olivia grinning up at him through narrowed eyes.

"Well don't introduce me or anything,  _love_ ," she hissed.

He winced and smiled over at Finn. "S-Sorry. Finn, this is Olivia. My fiancé. And Olivia, this is Finn. My... ugh... old friend, I guess?"

"Nice to meet you," he said, shaking Olivia's hand with a grin.

She returned it and chuckled. "Likewise. Weird Alistair never mentioned you. I'm guessing you're a childhood friend?"

"Eh, something like that. Pen-pals and whatnot."

Olivia beamed up at him. "Pen-pals? Oh my God, that is  _so_  adorable."

Alistair cleared his throat. "Yes, well. That was a  _long_  time ago," he muttered. Truth be told, Alistair had a hard time even remembering how they first came to  _be_  pen-pals. That summer seemed a lifetime ago. The clearest thing he remembered about it was blueberries, for whatever reason.

Looking past Finn to the boat his father was currently loading a cooler onto, he decided to change the subject. "Going fishing?"

"Ah, yeah. My dad's had his heart set on it since he got a new fishing-rod for his birthday," Finn snorted. "My cousins were supposed to come too, but fucked off at the last second." He blinked, then winced and looked apologetically at Olivia. "Pardon the language."

She giggled and flopped one hand in a wave. "Can't say I give a shit."

"Finn! I'll kick the boat off without you if I have too," his father suddenly shouted. Alistair saw him look them over. "Got two extra rods, if your friends wanna come."

Finn hesitated and offered a weak smile at the pair of them. "You're more than welcome if you wanna come along."

"You're very kind, but I really don't know anything about fishing," Olivia said.

"Hah. Chances are all we'll be doing is sticking the lines in the water and then spending the next two hours drinking beer."

She sighed. "Unfortunately I get seasick really easily. I doubt I'd be much fun. And I just had a burrito for lunch like twenty minutes ago. Something I  _really_  don't want to see a second time!"

Alistair resisted the urge to frown at her. She'd never been seasick a day in her life. And they'd had lunch almost two hours ago. The only thing Olivia had eaten was a garden salad.

"Ah, well that's too bad," Finn said. Alistair doubted he'd seen through Olivia's lie. She was quite skilled at it, after all. "Maybe some other-"

"Oh but Alistair! There's no reason you shouldn't go along."

They both blinked in surprise at her. Then at each other.

"Umm. But Olivia. Weren't we supposed to spend the day together?"

Olivia brushed off his statement with a wave of her hand. "Bah. We can do that any day. This is a friend you haven't seen in years, by the sounds of things. You can't miss this opportunity to catch up."

He looked over at Finn helplessly, who simply shrugged. And looked slightly amused about the whole thing. "It'd be... great to have you along."

Defeated, and not wanting to look like a complete arse in front of Olivia, he relented with a smile. "Ah, thanks love. You're the best."

She was planning something. He knew it.

"I know," she said, grinning broadly and leaning up to give him a peck on the cheek. "I'm going to head back to the house, then. What time do you suppose you'll be back?" She directed this question at Finn.

"Umm, no later than six anyway."

"Brilliant! I'll see you later, love. Nice meeting you, Finn!" she called out, already sidling back the way they came.

He waved after her. "You too!"

And then there were two.

"Finn! God's sake, we're wasting daylight here."

Well, three.

Alistair couldn't help it. He laughed. Finn stared at him for a moment before snickering as well.

"So. Engaged, eh?" he asked, leading the way back to the boat. "Congrats."

"Thanks," Alistair chuckled. "Still can't quite believe it myself."

"I'd say so. When's the wedding?"

"First of July. She's planned  _everything_." He mentally groaned, just thinking about how precise every little detail had had to be. Right down to the damn toilet paper in the bathrooms. "I actually dared question one of her decisions early in the planning process. Suffice to say, I was quiet as a mouse after that."

Finn laughed and threw his backpack onto the boat. "From what I hear, that's pretty normal. Still, sounds like it'll be a hell of a party."

Alistair smiled and nodded. An unasked question hung in the air, but he wasn't sure whether it should be broached or not. As far as Olivia was concerned, the guest list had been set since March. All the meals had been planned and everything was as it should be. Any last minute alterations would be the equivalent of kicking a hornets nest.

Still, he felt as though he should say something. "Listen, I..."

"Woah, hey. Don't forget this," another voice cut him off. A voice which immediately made every inch of Alistair turn to ice. His expression dropped and posture stiffened even as he shot a sidelong glance at the source. James.

He hadn't seen the young fisherman in almost two years. And it wasn't nearly long enough. A tall guy – taller even than Alistair – and burly. The kind of burly that came from manual labour more-so than gym time. He had a light beard, scruffy brown hair, and a weather-beaten tan. Basically, the picture of rugged handsomeness.

Finn apparently didn't notice the shift in Alistair. His focus was instead glued to the man currently handing him a bottle of suncream.

"The hell is this?" Finn snapped, though there was a clear undertone of amusement in his voice.

"You're Irish, mate. You go out on the water without suncream, you'll come back the colour of a tomato," James wryly commented, earning an indignant scoff from Finn.

"Oh, fuck you." But as he turned to chuck the bottle onto the boat, Alistair noted the poorly concealed grin on his face. His own eyes shifted back to James, who seemed to finally take note of Alistair as well. The charming grin fell a little, while Alistair's expression remained frosty as an arctic wind.

"Hey," he quietly greeted. Alistair didn't so much as nod in response, and simply turned to the boat. Finn shot him a confused look upon catching the glower.

"Umm... Okay. Well. Thanks for helping us set up the boat, James," he heard him say. He accepted a lifejacket from Finn's father with a forced smile.

"No problem! Might see you at the bar later, eh?"

"Heh. Here's hoping."

Alistair scowled and pulled the lifejacket on, tightening its straps with a little more force than necessary.

* * *

"...You haven't said much?"

"Mm?" Alistair looked up from staring into the water. They were both sitting on opposite sides of the boat, each with a fishing rod in hand. Finn's father had his own propped up a little further down and was currently in the midst of draining his fourth can of beer.

"Since we left you've been pretty quiet. I mean, I know you didn't really want to come, but I kinda figured you'd at least make an attempt at conversation," he muttered.

Alistair blinked and was about to defend himself, but quickly realised that Finn was right. He'd been in a sullen silence since his unexpected run-in with James. And while seeing the fisherman had done little to improve Alistair's mood, that was no reason to take it out on Finn.

He sighed. "Sorry. I... Guess I'm just distracted about the wedding."

Finn was quiet for a second and Alistair heard the distinctive hiss of a can being opened. "Sounds like it's gonna be a big do. How many are going?"

"Three-hundred and twenty four. In Olivia's words, we're keeping it  _small_ ," he said, huffing softly. "That's the trimmed down guest list, after about fifty failed to RSVP."

"...Damn."

That question from before continued to hover in the air. Alistair retrieved a can from the cooler and toyed with it for a second. "Finn, listen. It's not that I don't want to invite you, but... Olivia has pretty much clamped iron-manacles on the guest list at this stage. The meals are all set, the seating arrangement has been organised, it's-"

"Hey, it's fine," Finn suddenly laughed, turning around and prompting Alistair to do the same. "I mean... we haven't seen each other in like six years. And, to be fair, I was a bit of a dick."

Alistair's brow furrowed. " _You_ were...? I thought I was the dick."

"Ugh, no. That was definitely me," Finn plainly stated.

"I acted like the world's biggest know-it-all prick!"

"Oh come on. The way I lashed out at you was totally uncalled for."

"It was very called for. I was out of line."

"Nope. No, I was."

"Finn. It was completely my fault."

" _Alistair_. It was mine."

" _No_. I was the asshole."

"I don't think so! Definitely me."

"It. Was. Me."

"I. Dis. A. Gree."

"Can you two pause your lover's spat till we get back to shore. You're scaring away the fishes."

They both winced and Finn stared balefully at his father.

"Dad... For the love of God."

He shrugged lethargically, in a way that immediately reminded Alistair of Finn. "You and your boyfriend are the ones disturbing the peace."

"Dad! Jesus. He's engaged for fuck's sake," Finn hissed. A look of mild disappointment fell across his father's face.

"Aww, that's too bad. He would have been a big improvement over that last prick you dated."

A slap rang out as Finn smacked his own forehead, his father merrily returning to his beer. "Fucking hell," he muttered, slumping back onto the bench.

Alistair's expression was a mixture of amusement and surprise as he opened his own can.  _Well, you learn something new everyday_. Odd that he wasn't more surprised about this revelation. He decided not to say anything at first. It was somewhat entertaining watching Finn's abject mortification. After a second, the other looked up at him from between his fingers and glared.

"I'm gonna take that asshole-grin to mean you don't give a fuck?"

It would be a little hypocritical if he did.

"I couldn't give less of a fuck," he stated, earning a snort from Finn.

"Good. You know, that's the third time my dad's accidentally outed me after having one too many."

Alistair chuckled and threw back a generous mouthful of beer. "Eh, you're lucky he's so supportive. I know some can be very... old fashioned about that kind of thing."

"Supportive?" Finn levelled a blank look at him. "Half my family had a betting pool going on whether or not I was gay until I came out at eighteen. From what I hear, my dad earned eighty euros. So yeah. I guess you could call him supportive."

"It was ninety," his father corrected.

Finn rolled his eyes, but a fond smile pulled at his expression. Alistair couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of envy. What must it be like, he wondered, to have such an amicable father-son relationship...

Shaking the feeling, he smiled. "You and your father seem close."

"Ah, he's alright," Finn laughed, fidgeting with the end of his fishing-rod. A slight frown creased his expression and he glanced over at Alistair. "Um... mind if I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"What was the deal with you back at the harbour? The second James showed up, you got this look on your face... like that!" Finn exclaimed, pointing at him.

Alistair winced and forced his expression back into one of neutrality. It was a challenge. Every time he was reminded of that bastard's existence, a bitter venom instantly began to surge through his veins. The feeling physically manifested itself either as an icy glare, or ugly scowl.

He coughed uncomfortably. "It's nothing, Finn. I just... never liked him I guess."

"Okay but... I mean, if he's a dick I'd like to know." He scratched his head, eyes fixed on the water. "Seeing as my dad's already outed me, I may as well be blunt when I say: he's hot as hell. And I  _think_  he was flirting with me. Then again I've always been shit at noticing these things... Annnd, you're doing it again."

Alistair mentally cursed. Damn it. He was usually so good at keeping his emotions under control. It was part and parcel with being a good negotiator in business meetings. It pissed him off to no end that that man still had such a hold on him after all these years.

"If you're asking me if he's gay, I'm pretty sure he is." Finn gave him an odd look and Alistair shrugged. "It's not exactly a big town, Finn. People talk."

"Right. But you still didn't tell me whether he's a prick or not?"

Alistair frowned and turned back to the water. "What makes you think I know?"

"The fact that I can't so much as mention him without your face looking like you swallowed a lemon."

He didn't say anything. After a moment Finn just sighed and began to reel in his line. Alistair instantly felt guilty. His history with James was just that: history. No reason it should affect Finn's social... or romantic endeavours.

"He's not a prick." Alistair was glad he was looking away from Finn when he said it. The words themselves were enough of a struggle to get out without choking on them. He could only imagine what his face looked like. "I've never gotten along with him myself. You know how sometimes people just rub you the wrong way, but you can't explain why. But that's no reason you two wouldn't hit it off."

He heard him pause to listen. Then huff out a relieved exhale of air.

"Shit. That's good to hear," Finn laughed, and Alistair gave a surprised  _oof_  when he felt a friendly punch connect with his upper arm. "I mean... not that I'm looking for a relationship or anything. But who wants to waste their time, regardless of how brief their time is, on a creep?"

"True enough," Alistair agreed, forcing a smile. This fell to a look of surprise when he felt a hard tug on his fishing-rod. "Woah!"

"Did you get a bite?! Oh hell, you did." Finn landed next to him with an excited grin. "Dad! Alistair got something."

"Hah! Told you he was better than your last boyfriend. Couldn't fish worth a damn, that one."

" _Not_  my boyfriend, Dad. Let it go," Finn replied through clenched teeth.

"A _hem_. Any advice here?" Alistair asked, trying his best not to laugh.

"Reel it in now before it gets away!" he heard Finn's father yell. Alistair turned handle and was surprised to meet resistance. He stood up to get a better grip and cursed when the fish gave a sharp tug on the line. He'd likely have toppled over the side, had Finn not quickly grabbed him by the arm to hold him steady.

"Careful!" he snickered. "You need to-!"

But a fresh yank almost caused the rod to entirely slip from his grip. Finn quickly grabbed ahold of it also.

"He's a big fucker! Reel him in quick, Alistair," he said, still laughing. Alistair spun the handle and the weight on the end of the line seemed to grow heavier the further up it came. Finn helped him keep a tight hold on the fishing-rod and Alistair tried not to focus on how their hands kept brushing off of one another's.

"Almost there, lads!" his father called out.

Finn scoffed. "Don't help or anything, Dad."

"I just opened a fresh can. What do you want from me?"

Alistair's eyes widened as he saw something shiny and silver break the surface. "There it is!"

"Holy crap! Look at that monster," Finn exclaimed.

He kept turning the reel and they both maintained a firm grip on the fishing-rod. The next second, a large, flailing fish came flying into the boat. The sudden lack of resistance caused the pair of them to immediately tumble backwards, falling into a heap on the deck.

Alistair's elbow had connected with the bench and he winced. "Shit."

"Ugh, yep," he heard Finn murmur next to him.

It was then Alistair realised he'd more or less fallen on top of him. He felt his cheeks redden a little and quickly got up. "S-Sorry. You okay?"

"Awesome," he grunted, nursing the back of his head.

Alistair couldn't help but grin as he helped him up. "Guess you broke my fall, huh? Cheers."

"Buy me a pint and we'll call it even," he said with a smile.

A pointed snort came from the other end of the boat. They both looked over at the same time. Finn's father placed a lid on the cooler, now containing the immobile fish. He levelled a bland look at the pair of them. "Have to do everything myself, don't I?" he scoffed and turned on the boat's motor. "This is why couple's shouldn't go fishing."

"Still not a couple, Dad... And get the hell away from those controls! No way you're steering this thing after drinking that much beer."

* * *

They arrived back in the harbour a little before six. Alistair had had to put some of his best negotiation skills to use in order to convince Finn's father to take the fish home.

"Honestly, it will just go to waste in my house," he insisted. Finn was finishing up clearing the boat, but continued to shoot amused grins over his shoulder at the pair of them.

His father was gracing Alistair with a look of bullish stubbornness. Again, something he and his son seemed to have in common. If it hadn't been for the half a dozen cans of beer he'd imbibed, Alistair had a strong suspicion that the man might very well have won their argument.

"Okay. How about this? I buy it from you."

Alistair was about to object, but stopped and instead said, "Okay... How does five pounds sound?"

"Ten!" he argued.

"Ten, then."

He nodded and handed Alistair a twenty pound note. Alistair handed him back two tens. "And there's your change."

"Pleasure doing business with you," he stated, grinning broadly and – cooler in hand – wobbled back to his car. Finn caught him en route to the driver's seat and quickly diverted him to the passenger.

Alistair chuckled as he strolled back over to him. "Well. That was an experience."

"Hopefully not an unpleasant one?" he asked, smiling a little uncertainly.

"Honestly. I never thought I'd enjoy fishing, but that was pretty fun." He grinned. "And... Well, it was good to see you again. Particularly since we butted heads quite a bit the last time around. Nice to clear the air."

"Heh. Yeah," Finn said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You're, um, heading back now yeah?"

"I have to. I've got the sneaking suspicion that my fiancé is in the final stages of throwing me a surprise party." Alistair snorted. "She's not as subtle as she thinks."

Finn's eyes widened. "Wha... It's your birthday?!"

He nodded.

"Aww, shit. Why didn't you say something? You should've spent the day with Olivia, and not-"

"Hey! It's fine," he cut him off, smiling brightly. "Better than fine, really. I've always hated the fuss made around birthdays. It was nice to just spend the day relaxing for once."

Finn looked at him dubiously but returned the expression. "Well... So long as you had fun."

"I did," he stated, nodding firmly. Then, with a certain warmth, added, "Thank you for inviting me."

"Hah! I'd be lying if I said I'd have done it if my Dad hadn't butt in," he laughed, rubbing the side of his head. "But... I'm glad he did. It was good to see you too. Maybe we can grab a pint or something before we part ways for another seven years?"

Alistair grinned. "I'd like that."

* * *

Sure enough, a surprise party of grandiose proportions had been awaiting Alistair upon his return to the manor. He performed his role to a tee. Surprised, then embarrassed, then jovial. Olivia had outdone herself on the decorations, food, and guests. How she'd managed to wrangle all his old Oxford friends to one place – even his smaller inner circle, which generally avoided the others like the plague – was a mystery. Still, he was immensely grateful. And already dreading the lengths he would have to go to to make it up to her on her birthday.

It was a high-class, lengthy affair. They'd lost a few on the way up to 12 p.m., and by then all that remained of the initial sixty guests were four. His closest friends from college: Damien, Max, Jack and Ivan. And while Olivia was ready to hit the hay, Alistair decided to spend a little more time with them before they all went their separate ways the next day. Once granted permission by his fiancé, they departed for the town.

"Don't cause any trouble," he warned, looking pointedly at Jack.

"What? Anything we break,  _you_  can just replace with something better."

" _Jack_."

"Ah, come on mate. Take a joke."

Alistair huffed and couldn't help but smirk. He'd never admit it aloud, but having his old friends around once more was comforting. It gave him a temporary respite from all the mounting pressures of work, weddings, and everything else in his life. They walked up to one of the two bars in town: Quincy's. It was a reasonably sized pub, which largely appealed to tourists with its rustic charm and old stone architecture. His friends were split between those who enjoyed alcohol, regardless of the watering hole, and those who preferred a more... vivacious setting. Damien being right at the top of the latter.

" _Really_? The five of us are reunited for the first time in two years and we can't even get to a decent nightclub," he grumbled, accent thick as ever. "I flew in from Paris for this, you know."

"Don't start," Ivan warned, exchanging an exasperated look with Alistair.

Jack made a contemplative noise. "Huh. And here I thought this would be your typical, ultra-religious, anti-liberal seaside town."

"What are you going on about?" Max asked, already at the door to the pub.

"Just saw two guys making out back there."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did Damien shoot off to investigate. The four performed a simultaneous eye-roll and Alistair promptly trudged after him. "I'll go get the pervert. You all head inside and grab us a section upstairs."

He went back the way they came, scanning the dimly lit street for the overly-salacious Frenchman. After a minute, Alistair spotted him leaning against a wall close to the local newsagents. From where he was, he could see the vague outline of the couple Damien was surreptitiously creeping on further down the street. Alistair frowned and marched up to him.

"Damien," he hissed, giving him a hard knock to the shoulder and ignoring the affronted yelp it earned him. "Jesus, you can't just-"

"Whaaaat? I'm being subtle about it." He huffed and nursed his arm. As though he hadn't once been a college judo champion for three years running. "I just wanted to take a look, anyway. They should feel flattered though. It's seriously hot."

Alistair refrained from hitting him again and instead moved to physically usher his ridiculous friend back in the direction of the bar. "I don't care. It's fucking creepy. This will get you in..."

He trailed off and abruptly let go of a scowling Damien. From his new vantage point, he could clearly see the couple currently making out further down the street.

It was Finn. And James. Kissing.

Alistair stared for a second before suddenly turning and stalking back toward the pub without a word. He didn't see that. He  _did not_  see that. Damien noticed something was off and immediately scrambled after him, asking what was wrong. Alistair didn't answer. Mainly because he wasn't sure himself. All he knew was that that image of Finn being shoved up against a wall and locked in an impassioned embrace with James was going to be permanently burned into his psyche unless he got  _a lot_ of alcohol into his system. And soon.

* * *


	5. Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, reviews are greatly appreciated! =)

It was a nice day for a funeral. Perfect, really. The kind of day his grandmother would dub a grand one for sitting in a shady spot with nothing but a bottle of cold cider and your thoughts. Finn sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, sitting cross-legged on the grassy slope leading down to the riverbank. He heard the rustle of footsteps behind him and looked up to see Niamh.

"Hey," she greeted, voice cracking just a little. Her eyes were red, eye make-up slightly smudged, as she sat down next to him.

He nodded in greeting, clearing his throat. "How's Mam?"

"She's okay. Another neighbour came by – Mrs Burke, I think. She brought a quiche."

Finn made a face. "Why?"

"It's general practice to bring some form of homemade sweet or savoury food when sharing your condolences," she replied, leaning back on her hands and looking over the small valley. "It's nice here... How come I never came down this way more often?"

"Eh, you were usually visiting the town with Mam. Or going to the beach."

She frowned. "Feels like I missed out."

They were both quiet for a moment before Finn replied. "Ninety-nine's not a bad age to go."

"Hell no. Plus, it wasn't in some hospital bed. Always said she hated the idea of that."

A sad smile twitched across his face. "Fifteen minutes after reaching the top of Mount Kilimanjaro she takes a nap. Then just drifts off. No doubt the view was better than a hospital window."

Niamh breathed a laugh. "And you know she'd love the idea of giving the other climbers a scare."

"That's Gran alright. If she has it her way, her spirit's going to haunt that mountaintop forever more."

They both snickered softly. It was good to remember her as the thrill-seeking adventurer she was, right up until her death. Finn didn't doubt the woman would have lived to be one-hundred and ten if she'd opted for a less advanced trail up the mountain. But she always did like to push herself, and wouldn't spare the time of day for anyone who tried to advise her otherwise.

"When are we leaving?" he asked after a minute.

"Mmm, in twenty I think. Still waiting for Uncle Liam, Eoin and Cian."

"Better make it forty, then," Finn muttered.

" _Finn_."

"What? Wouldn't be a family occasion if those three weren't at least fifteen minutes late."

"I'll drink to that, mate."

They both turned around to see Eoin clambering down the hill, carrying three bottles of cider. Finn rose an eyebrow while Niamh huffed.

"It's half-twelve," she blandly stated.

"Or as Gran liked to put it, perfect time for a fresh pick-me-up," he breezily replied, handing them a bottle each.

"I think she meant that you're here early. Where's Cian and Uncle Liam?"

Eoin shrugged, popping the cap of his own bottle and taking a swig. "Ran into a neighbour on the way in. I managed to slip away."

They both simply nodded and turned to silently look down over the hillside, eyes tracing the path of the sparkling river. Eventually, Cian appeared from the top of the hill and shouted down at them to get a move on. Niamh was the first to rise, throwing back the last of her cider and moving back up to the cottage. Eoin waited a little longer.

"You two okay?" Finn asked after a second. Close as he'd been with his grandmother, he knew Eoin and Cian had seen her as almost a surrogate mother after their own passed away. Their father had fallen to depression shortly after, wherein they had moved in with her for the best part of two years. Even after he sobered up and worked to slowly regain their respect, she remained a solid presence in their lives.

Eoin simply stared into his bottle, quiet with an unreadable expression. After a moment he breathed in deep and smiled. "No, but not terrible either. We'll work through it like we always do." He quickly tipped back the last of his drink and got up. "See you up there."

Finn nodded and took another minute to watch the river. A quick glance at his watch told him it was almost one. They would be leaving in the next few minutes. He thought back on the past few days, how everything had passed by in a dreamlike blur. First hearing about his grandmother's death, then being told she had to be transported back from Africa, his mother struggling to organise everything at the cottage, all four of them flying out at the last minute, arranging the cremation and reception... Suffice to say, his mother had been working non-stop since they first got the phone call. She always did like to distract herself from unpleasant truths by keeping busy.

Huffing softly to himself, Finn lifted his almost empty bottle. "Hears to you, Gran," he muttered, draining the last of the cider before getting up. It was time to say goodbye.

* * *

The whole thing had been something of a disappointment to Finn. He always thought that the funeral should in some way reflect the person it was being held for. And for someone with as vibrant a personality as his grandmother, nothing short of fireworks complemented by a lively musical number would have done her justice. As it was, the entire thing had been a straightforward, unexciting event. They'd arrived at the funeral home and had had – in accordance with his grandmother's preferences – a strictly non-religious ceremony; family members came forward and said their pieces one by one. Then came the cremation. No bells and whistles, just a straightforward operation. Her ashes were to be scattered in three different locations: her place of death, place of birth, and place of marriage. So Mount Kilimanjaro, Snowdonia, and Honolulu. Niamh had immediately called dibs on handling the third one.

When it was all over, they returned to the cottage feeling somewhat bereft. Being as old as she was, the bulk of his grandmother's closest friends were already dead themselves. Only a handful of associates had dropped by to attend the ceremony, none of which had bothered to return with them to the cottage for the reception.

"Well... just means more food for us, eh?" Finn joked. His mother placed a hand on his shoulder with an apologetic smile. She'd been up to her eyes in stress the day before, so he had volunteered to prepare food for the reception. It was mostly platters people could pick at; nothing fancy. They'd expected there to be  _at least_  ten other visitors. Honestly, he was more put out that so few had bothered to offer their condolences to his family than about his efforts going to waste.

As it turned out however, they all had a much more enjoyable time by themselves. Being able to share stories comfortably without overseeing guests whom they likely had never met before was an immensely more preferable experience. For two hours, they simply sat gathered in the sitting room, eating Finn's food and sharing their own fond memories of his grandmother. It wasn't long after that that they heard a knock on the front door. His dad was the one to get it, and hastily ushered in a man dressed in a dull grey suit.

"This is Miranda's lawyer. Mr. Trent."

His mother immediately stood up and welcomed him inside, quickly fetching him a cup coffee before settling on the armrest of the couch next to Niamh. Mr. Trent offered them his condolences like a vending machine offers snacks; no emotion, just performing its function. Finn wasn't that surprised his gran had selected him as a lawyer. She always did feel professionals like him should be about business and not feelings. Mr. Trent sat ramrod straight, eyes almost impossible to see beyond his thick spectacles as he regarded them.

"Well, I can see Ms. Cassidy's assessment was right," he said after a moment. "At the very beginning of her last will and testament, she states that no one save her immediate relatives will be present for the reading of it. An incredibly intuitive woman, I must say."

Finn saw his mother and uncle exchange knowing smiles. No doubt that intuitive manner of hers had thwarted one or more of their own attempts at teenage rebellion in their youth. Mr. Trent removed some immaculate white papers from his briefcase and straightened them out.

"Now. Before we begin, there are some official matters we need to see to..."

Finn's attention had tapered off soon after that. From what he saw, it was mostly just his mother and uncle signing and initialing page after page of administrative crap. Once that was settled fifteen minutes later, Mr. Trent took out a different set of papers and began – in perhaps the most droning, monotonous voice possible – reading the will itself.

It had started with a few heartfelt statements wherein all of them in turn were handed a sealed letter; each contained a separate and personal message from her, to be read in their own time. Finn held his own for a second before reverently placing it in his suit pocket, eyes burning slightly. A soft sniffle to his right caused him to glance over. Fresh tears were running down Niamh's cheeks. Their mother wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her close while her own eyes began to water.

Mr. Trent gave them all a moment before continuing.

" _Now onto the death-wish equivalent of money stashed in a birthday card_." His grandmother's joke fell somewhat flat when read in the man's bland, unaffected tone. " _My entire life-savings are to be split thrice. Twenty percent is to go to Snowdrop Children's Hospital, where my first child – Simon – was treated with all the attentiveness and compassion in the world before he eventually passed away at the tender age of six_." Finn remembered his mother mentioning an elder brother who had died of meningitis when she was only a toddler; too young to remember anything but her mother spending the same day every year after that crying long into the night. " _The remaining eighty is to be evenly parted and given to my dear grandchildren, Eoin and Cian, whom I have come to love as my own children_."

He looked over at the twins. They'd always been skilled at keeping their emotions hidden. Only those who knew them well would be able to see the barely suppressed devastation threatening to break across both their expressions. Finn knew they would refuse to show such personal feelings in front of a stranger, much less the stoic Mr. Trent.

" _My dogs I leave to my kind and loving grandson, Finn. He is, to this day, the only person aside from myself whom my dear mongrels have come to listen to_.  _To my granddaughter Niamh, I leave my personal jewellery box and all its contents. She may sell these as she sees fit, save the onyx broach which has been in my family for generations_." Mr. Trent shuffled some papers before continuing. " _I leave my LA condominium and all assets contained within to my son, Liam. My country cottage and current abode, I leave to my daughter, Jane. All assets within are also hers. Both properties are fully paid off and may be handled as you see fit_." He cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee from his cup. " _I understand that you, Jane, may not be capable of relocating to England for many years, if ever. As such, I have one request. If you feel the need to sell the cottage, I ask that you look into transforming it into a bed and breakfast. I have thus taken the liberty of attaching the name and number of an associate who owns a chain of highly successful B &B's throughout the UK_."

Finn glanced at his mother, but was unable to get anything from her expression beyond the weary sadness.

Then all that was left was a final goodbye. Short but sweet. And just like his gran. The fact that it was read by a robot of a man did little to quash the warm familiarity.

" _I love you all. Be safe. Be good. Be everything you can be_."

* * *

Eoin, Cian, and Uncle Liam had decided to spend the night in the cottage. Not that they had much choice, what with the amount of alcohol that had been imbibed after Mr. Trent left. Finn's father had naturally been the one to kick things off, quick to help everyone shake the dark clouds hanging over their heads. He'd disappeared into the kitchen, only to return with a freshly opened bottle of whiskey and seven filled tumbler glasses. It wasn't long after that that they were all smiling and fondly reminiscing once again. By half-twelve, it became apparent that  _no one_  was in a fit state to drive. Finn had helped his mother gather some extra blankets and pillows for their guests before plonking himself onto the couch in the sitting room.

He heard the front door click open, followed by his father calling out, "Incoming." Finn smiled and waited. A stampede of padded paws sounded from the hallway. The next second, he found himself with a lap full of corgi.

"Hey pal," he said, grinning as the wriggling dog leant up to lick his face. The others barked excitedly as they gathered around him. He felt a weight settle on the couch next to him and looked over to see the old but familiar face of Jameson. Finn fondly scratched the old dog's head. "Hows it going, old man?"

The pitbull-terrier gave a soft ruff, laying his head on Finn's leg and closing his eyes.

"Heh. I can see why she left them to you," Cian said, settling into an armchair. "So... Any idea what's gonna happen with the house?"

"We don't have a lot of options really," Finn's mother answered, sitting down at the end of the couch and absently stroking Jameson's back. "She knew we wouldn't be able to move in permanently, and also knew the house couldn't just go to any old purchaser. Too many fond memories." She paused, brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Honestly, I think the idea of making it into a B&B is... quite nice. She mentioned doing it herself once or twice, but never got around to it."

"So, think you're gonna call the contact?" Finn asked, grunting when Corona suddenly joined Miller on his lap. The pomeranian snapped playfully at the corgi before he distracted her by scratching her belly.

"Tomorrow."

He resisted smirking. His mother always had to be excessively efficient about everything.

"And what about Uncle Liam?"

"Oh, he'll gladly relocate to LA," she replied, smiling slightly. "Though he admits it'll be odd living in Mum's old home. I think he's going to give it a trial run before settling in permanently."

Cian snorted. "I don't doubt he'll have fully moved in by the end of the month. Lucky he works from home. Writers, eh?"

"And  _what_  exactly are you going to do with your seven dogs?" his mother then asked, raising an eyebrow at Finn. She looked like she was barely holding back laughter.

He looked at her in surprise. "What else? Create my own champion dogsled team."

* * *

None of them had gotten to bed before two in the morning. The first to settle was Uncle Liam. Then Finn's mother and father. Niamh dropped off soon after that. Finally, he, Cian, and Eoin had fallen to exhaustion just past half three. The next morning saw Finn seated at the breakfast table, surreptitiously feeding leftover rashers to Smirnoff while battling the effects of a minor hangover. The yorkshire terrier picked up his treat and trotted back to his bed happily.

"Morning."

He looked up as his mother stalked into the room. She fetched a cup of coffee before sitting down.

"As it turns out, the whole conversion to a B&B isn't as simple as we might have thought."

He frowned, not at all surprised that she'd already contacted the prospective buyer. Excessively efficient, indeed. "What do you mean?"

"First, the details all need to be finalised of the property coming into my hands. That entails going through  _a lot_  of red tape, which could take months. The property also needs to be sussed out by the buyer. Then refurbished as necessary." She blew out a sigh and buttered herself some toast. "Plus, we need to sort out all my mum's stuff. And she has  _a lot_. Don't know if you've ever been up in the attic, but she could hoard with the best of them. All in all, the whole process could last up to a year before it's complete!"

"So?"

"So? So who's going to be able to oversee all of that? I can't entrust my mum's property to some random stranger." She took a bite of toast and frowned. "And I certainly can't afford to take any more time off work. Your father... God, can you imagine the mess he would make of it. No offence, love," she added, glancing over at him sitting at the end of the table holding a newspaper.

"None taken. I'd fuck it up, no doubt."

"And Niamh can't. She just started in her new job."

Finn tilted his head to one side. "What about me?"

For a second she seemed surprised. "Oh, love. No. No you'd be here all by yourself. For up to a year!"

"Nah. I'd have the dogs," he stated, smiling crookedly and shrugging off her concern. "I'm not working right now, have no real responsibilities back home, and could definitely do with some time to myself to rethink the bulk of my life decisions. Perfect fit, really."

She still looked uncertain, but his father quickly interjected. "I think it's a grand idea. If you're going to be stuck moping about the house, may as well make yourself useful while doing it."

"Exactly!" Finn said. Then added defensively, "And I wasn't  _moping_."

"Brooding then," his father replied without so much as glancing up from his paper. "Whatever you kids call it."

A hand on his arm caused Finn's glare to dissipate. He looked back to his mother.

"Have a think about it first, love. It's great of you to offer, and if you're happy to do it then I certainly won't stop you. But just think about it. A year can pass by very slowly in a sleepy town like this." She patted his hand. "We won't be leaving till Saturday. Wait till then before you make up your mind."

* * *

By Saturday evening, Finn found himself standing near the security checkpoint, trapped in a bone-crushing embrace by his mother. He exchanged a helpless smile with Niamh and she snickered.

"Mam, at this rate we're not only going miss our flight. You're gonna break his back."

A soft snort left her and she gave Finn another squeeze before holding him at arms length. "Now you have all our contact details. You get lonely or sick or  _anything_ , you ring me."

Finn nodded. "Will do."

"I'll send on a box of your stuff in express post. It should be here by Monday. And I want weekly updates on how you're doing!" she added, grabbing her bag from the floor. "Every week, you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am." He grinned. "Have a safe flight. Give us a call when you land, yeah?"

"Of course. I love you," she said, smiling and giving him a peck on the cheek before moving off to join the queue.

Niamh gave him a quick but warm hug. "Talk to you later, Finn."

"Try not to miss me too much."

She snorted and fondly ruffled his hair. "I'll soldier through. Love you."

"You too."

Niamh followed after their mother. Finn felt a hand slap him on the shoulder and looked over to his dad.

"Right. You've got a year to kill in a seaside down. What are we gonna to do?"

He took a second to pretend to think. "Umm... Fish?"

"Damn straight." His dad grinned. "All this faffing about better not go to waste. I want to see a prize-winning catch before the year is out!"

"Rest assured, it'll be at the top of my to-do list," he dryly replied. "You know... right after everything else."

His father simply chuckled and knocked Finn on the upper-arm. "You look after yourself." He gently squeezed his shoulder before patting it with a smile. "One or all of us will come by and visit at some point or another. So be sure to keep the fridge well stocked with beer."

"Yessir," Finn laughed, waving him and the rest off as they proceeded through the checkpoint. "Talk to you all soon."

He waited till they were completely out of sight before stuffing his hands into his pockets and turning to leave. Honestly, the whole thing didn't strike him as much of burden. Time to himself in a rent-free, quiet, country cottage. Just him and his thoughts... and the dogs. Finn blinked. That reminded him, he needed to drop by a shop on the way back to pick up some dog food. And people food. They'd all but cleaned the place out of provisions over the past few days.

It was raining heavily when he stepped through the airport's main exit. He tightened his coat around shoulders and jogged back through the car park.

* * *

Finn opened to the door to the cottage, arms weighed down with three bags of assorted foodstuffs, and was immediately greeted by an entourage of jumping canines. He managed to navigate his way past them and into the kitchen.

"Alright, settle down guys," he fondly grumbled, leaving the bags on the counter and retrieving a bag of dog-food. Finn distributed the kibble into each of their bowls, already knowing which bowl belonged to who and how much they ate. He stepped back and watched in amusement as all seven heads were dipped, loudly guzzling their dinners. "Right. Now me."

He didn't feel like cooking, so simply made himself some beans on toast. Finn fell onto the couch with his food and silently thanked his grandmother for relenting and finally buying a TV last year. He picked up the remote and absently flicked through the channels. Eventually he settled on one which was showing Batman Begins, already halfway through.

By the time he finished his food, the dogs had joined him in the sitting room. And by the time the movie was over, all of them – including Finn – had fallen asleep where they were.

* * *


	6. Dianne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back with Alistair! He and Finn will be reuniting in the next chapter. Promise. :P I'll also try to offer more details on their appearances in the future. For now, just imagine Alistair as Bruce Wayne and Finn as... um, the Tenth Doctor? XD IDK.
> 
> Reviews are, as always, awesome!

The large monitor filled the otherwise deathly silence of the meeting room with a dull, static hum. The only other sound being the intermittent tip-tap of a pen. No one dared speak just yet. Not after the bombshell dropped mere minutes ago by the company's chief administrative officer. The chief operating officer... Correction,  _former_  chief operating officer of their Toronto branch, Louis Williams, looked mildly annoyed onscreen, but otherwise remarkably calm. He'd handled the accusations quite well. Said his piece in his defence, commenting on his significance to the company and highlighting his position as a senior board member.

At the head of the imposing dark wooden table, Alistair sat tapping the end of a pen against the surface. He knew everyone was waiting for him to say something. As it was, all he did was stare. Slowly he could see the initial arrogance drain from the man's face, and in its place settled a kind of pallid uncertainty. Twice Alistair's age and having been part of the company for more than twenty years, Williams honestly thought he was untouchable.

Just as the board member to his right began to shift uncomfortably, Alistair set the pen down. "Thank you for that enlightening insight, Mr. Williams. You will receive your severance package by the end of next month."

A ripple of tension carried over those gathered round the table. The man onscreen simply gaped for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a washed up fish. Then anger flashed in his eyes, a furious red colouring his fat wrinkled face as he began to splutter out some form of protest. This tapered off to silence when a pair of towering security guards appeared either side of him. Alistair set his phone back on the table.

"These gentlemen will escort you off the premises. They have orders to extend to you the same courtesies any outside visitor would be granted. And the same restrictions." He laced his fingers together in front of him. "Should you give them any problems in performing their duties, you will similarly incur the same penalties."

Williams suddenly stood up, face practically crimson with rage. "Do you have any idea who I am, boy?!" he yelled, resisting having his arms grabbed by the two guards. "I started working in this company while you were still in diapers. I was a manager before you could spell the fucking word! What gives you the right to undermine  _me_?!"

"You mean aside from my position as owner, CEO, and chairman of the board," Alistair blandly replied, raising an eyebrow. "Or perhaps you're referring to the fact that in the six years I have been in said position, the company's profit margins have increased exponentially. Ah, but you're right of course, Mr. Williams. You have given a lot of yourself to Blackburn International over the past twenty-three years. And what a paragon of good work ethic and integrity you have proven yourself to be." He lifted a paper from the table, eyes disinterestedly tracing over its content. "Thirty-two reports of sexual harassment. Fifty-six reports of race-based discrimination. Forty-one reports of other forms of workplace discrimination: gender, sexuality, religion." Alistair absently turned the page over. "Hmm, six accounts of physical assault. One-hundred and seventy-nine reports of verbal abuse. And... smoking in your office."

He lifted his gaze to meet the wide-eyed stare of Williams. "I must say, you've kept a tight operation down there, Mr. Williams. Amazing how the bulk of these complaints just faded into the woodwork. Or shredder." Alistair let a smirk crook his expression. "It would seem selling company-classified information to our competitors is just the tip of the iceberg with you. And, considering the infallible evidence my contacts have managed to pick up, I'd say if any of these employees choose to press charges... Well, I'd invest that severance pay in a good lawyer, if I were you. I think you're going to need it."

"But... But I am-!"

"Dismissed. Good day."

With that, Alistair hit the button on the underside of the desk. The equal parts infuriated and horrified face of Williams cut to black and Alistair leant back in his chair. He leafed through the paperwork in front of him – a list of managers, chief officers, directors, and shareholders who could take Williams' place on the board.

"Thoughts?" he asked without looking up.

Waltz cleared his throat, being the first to break the tentative silence. "Daniel Meyers has always been a steadfast employee. Smart, squeaky-clean record, great academic profile..."

"True, but he lacks the required decisive mind needed in a board member," Thompson noted. "Amanda White on the other hand is quite-"

"On suspension," Alistair cut in, eyes still trained on the list of names.

The entire table looked at him in surprise.

"Umm... when did this-?"

"This morning. She was found to have been fully aware of Mr. Williams' less than appropriate activities, but made no move to file a report and in some cases actively helped him keep them concealed." Alistair looked up. "When she returns she will also be demoted to her original post of assistant financial officer, working on a probationary period for a minimum of three years. Objections?"

No one spoke. Eventually, O'Byrne nodded and straightened in his seat.

"A sound decision, sir. Do you have any thoughts with regards to the vacant board seat?"

"Ms. Singh has given me a fairly comprehensive overview of possible candidates, though I'll need more time to review them," he said, shuffling through the papers. "We'll meet again at the end of the day before making a final decision."

With that he looked up and waited. They all knew it was his own wordless way of asking them if they had anything further to discuss. When no one spoke, he simply nodded and stood, prompting the rest to do the same.

"I believe that's everything for now. With luck, our next board meeting will be of a more pleasant nature. Thank you for joining me today."

A series of formal handshakes and niceties were exchanged before Alistair took his leave. He turned down the hall, phone in hand as he reviewed his missed calls and texts. Five calls and two messages from Olivia. Three messages from May. One from an unknown sender. He frowned at that, quickly scanning it. The CEO of Carver Industries wanted to meet for a business lunch. Alistair's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Any who wished to do business knew to contact him via Neela, and not through personal channels.

As though sensing this thought, his administrative assistant suddenly appeared by his side, matching his pace as he stalked down the hallway. Interns and managers alike quickly sidestepped to avoid impeding their path.

"I've sent that paperwork onto the Chicago pharma branch, sir," she informed him.

"Ms. Singh, why is the CEO of Carver contacting me directly? How did he get my number?"

"I'm sure I don't know, sir." Neela rose an eyebrow. "Unlike our dear Mr. Williams, I don't make a habit of giving out classified company information. Nor your own private information. He's got his own feelers out there, certainly not on the same level as you, but I doubt it would be much hassle for him to acquire your contact details."

He huffed. "Well that's reassuring."

"I'll inform your security."

"It's probably nothing, but better safe," Alistair grunted, already looking over the details of the texts from May.

_I'm assuming the meeting went overtime. Olivia called me and said you haven't been answering your phone. I'm on my way to the airport._ –  _M_

He quickly scrolled down to the next one.

_I just arrived. She's not here yet. I'm waiting with a present "from you"._ –  _M_

Alistair blew out a sigh and looked at the final text.

_She's here. We're on our way to get lunch from The Rainforest Cafe – she was very specific in that request. Animatronic gorillas... The things I endure for you. We'll pick you up from the office when you're done. Let me know when you're ready to leave._ –  _M_

He turned to Neela. "I'll be leaving in the next ten minutes. Send an email to Carver Industries and tell them that if they want to do business, we'd prefer they stick to the standard channels."

She nodded. "Shall I disable all updates being forwarded to your phone, sir? I know you're taking leave-"

"Not necessary, Ms. Singh," he stated, texting May back as they both turned the corner to his office.

Neela stopped next to her own desk outside and frowned. "I could at least filter it so only the important messages are sent."

"Impossible to know which are important without reading them," he simply replied, pocketing the phone and scanning his office. "Now where is my..."

"Here." Neela retrieved his coat and briefcase from where he'd absentmindedly left them earlier that morning. "I packed some progress reports on the new California HQ for you to take a look at. Also a sandwich and capri-sun, since you skipped lunch." She helped him with his coat before handing him the briefcase. "Everything else has been sent onto your personal drive for printing."

Alistair straightened out the black overcoat and couldn't help but smile. "How much am I paying you again?"

"Not enough," she replied, grinning back at him. "Enjoy your " _holiday"_ , sir."

* * *

The revolving doors of Blackburn International revealed a heavy downpour waiting outside. Alistair stepped out and was immediately greeted by Zach and Vadim, the latter of which had an umbrella ready for him.

"Long meeting, boss?" Zach asked.

"You could say that," he grumbled, taking out his phone when a fresh beep sounded. Alistair blinked, surprised to see it was another text from the CEO of Carver. Hmph, persistent. He stowed it away without responding. "I had to fire an employee of twenty-three years, who was also a senior board member."

Zach whistled low. "Nice. Did you make 'em cry?"

"Tears of impotent rage, maybe," he scoffed. "Anyway. How is she, Zach?"

"Good, but nervous. Had a nap on the flight over and I think that helped. She loved  _"your"_  gift, by the way."

Alistair gave a discomfited cough. "Great... And how many Disney movies did you have to sit through this time?"

"Three."

"I'll be sure to throw a bonus into your next pay-check."

They walked up to a sleek black rolls royce waiting by the curb. Zach opened the door and Alistair slipped inside, immediately followed by him. Vadim slid into the passenger seat, silently prompting the driver to start the engine. Alistair turned to face the two people already present on the seats opposite them. He nodded in greeting to May while a warm smile lit his face as he looked down to the other.

"Hello love."

Dianne smiled shyly up at him. "Hi Daddy."

"How was your flight?" he asked, leaning forward and taking note of the stuffed unicorn in her arms. Probably the aforementioned gift. "Not too boring, I hope."

She shook her head, looking down at her feet. "I watched Tinker Bell, Frozen, and Tangled. Then I went to sleep and woke up when we landed," she quietly replied. Then quickly glanced up. "Th-Thank you for the present." She hugged the toy and smiled. "I love Princess Luna."

Alistair's eyes briefly flicked toward May, who simply rose an eyebrow. "You're very welcome, dear. I'm glad you like her."

Dianne nodded, smile broadening. "She's my second-favourite pony. Right after Pinkie Pie."

"Those are some unique names! So which is your-?"

A beep cut him off and Alistair grimaced, reaching for his phone. A message from Hawthorne. That couldn't be good. He shot a quick smile at Dianne.

"This will just take a minute, love."

She nodded, eyes dropping to her feet again. Alistair quickly reviewed the message, brow furrowing as he did so. It wasn't urgent, but at the same time it was better to nip such issues in the bud; preferably before they  _became_ urgent. He called up Hawthorne, absently hearing Zach begin chatting to Dianne as he did so. Naturally, the call went on for long past a minute. The original plan of going straight from work to the country manor was short lived; now he needed to collect some files from the townhouse. He lowered his phone just long enough to tell the driver about the diversion. When they slowed to a stop, he got out without a word and walked up to the front door.

"Yes, I know... No, it's still not an acceptable amount, I don't care what Dillon tells you. Thirty thousand,  _minimum_. Is that clear?"

He strode into the house, unsurprised to see no one else within. Well, no one save Seymour. He passed by the elderly butler on his way in, offering a quick wave. The man looked unsurprised that Alistair was there, clearly set up for a quiet night in. He simply nodded in greeting, barely looking away from his soap opera and tea.

Alistair stalked up the staircase and down the hall to his office. He just finished the call with Hawthorne and retrieved the files when the other phone suddenly rang. Alistair hesitated. Anyone who wanted to contact him knew he would be mobile. Why were they ringing his office? After a moment he shrugged and picked it up.

"Yes?"

"Ah, miracles do happen. Thanks for returning my other seven calls by the way."

He grimaced and instantly cursed himself for answering. "I was busy-"

"You know one day that will be an epitaph over your grave," Olivia sharply cut him off. "Too busy to collect your six-year-old daughter from the airport. Too busy to call and tell me she arrived safely. And I'll wager, too busy to hold a proper conversation with her since she arrived."

Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is there something you want, Olivia?"

"Look. When I agreed to let Dianne spend the summer with you I-"

"Agreed?" he was the one to interrupt her this time, voice going cold. "I think you need to look up what the words "shared-custody" mean. Just because she goes to school in the US doesn't mean you get a monopoly on when I get to spend time with her."

He heard her suck in an annoyed breath before replying, "Be that as it may,  _you_  need to remember this: Dianne is  _not_  a secondary priority for you. She's your daughter. I don't care who calls, I don't care if the whole fucking company is going belly-up. Your focus this summer is Dianne."

"I  _know_  that," he snapped.

"And I  _know_  you know that. That's why it pisses me off having to remind you." Her voice softened a little and she sighed. "She's not a baby anymore, Alistair. Dianne is starting to notice how all it takes is a company call for her to lose your interest."

He frowned but didn't reply.

"And she's only going to become more aware of it the older she gets. Nick does his best, but he's not her father. You are..." She was quiet for a moment. "You know she didn't sleep a wink the night before she left? She was too excited about visiting you."

Again, Alistair remained silent. What do you say to something like that?

"Much as it irks me to admit it, she adores you," Olivia continued. "But how long do you think that will last if you continue going the way you are? When she's a teenager for instance, do you think she'll tolerate being brushed aside when some company director has an update on profit margins?"

Having heard enough, he spoke again before she could go any further. "Okay, Olivia. You've made your point."

She snorted a sardonic laugh. "If only it were that easy. You're as bullheaded as she is, though I suppose she had to get it from somewhere. Just one last thing. In the likely event you haven't checked your personal emails, I've sent on an itinerary. Just suggestions of activities she enjoys that you can do together, and some extra curricular lessons I think she'd benefit from."

"Thanks." He tried not to sound  _too_  petulant when he said it.

* * *

By the time they pulled up to the manor, the rain had lessened to a light drizzle. Alistair held an umbrella over himself and Dianne as they climbed the steps up to the open doorway. May trailed behind with her own, while Zach and Vadim remained in the car as it was driven around to the garage.

"Typical English summer, eh?" he laughed weakly, letting one of the maids take his coat and umbrella. "Thanks, Alice. So I don't suppose it was like that in New York when you left?"

Dianne tore her gaze from gaping at the interior of the manor. Alistair forgot it had been a while since she'd last stayed there. "Umm, not really," she quickly replied, toeing the ground. "It was warm and dry. Not very sunny, but I left early in the morning so I don't think the sun had come up yet."

Alistair took her own dark red coat and handed it over to Alice as well. "Well, hopefully we won't be in for more of that tomorrow. I was planning on taking you down to show you the beach. Then we can get some ice-cream. Maybe go on a bicycle ride. How does that sound, darling?"

Her face instantly lit up. "Y-yes please."

Alistair smiled and turned toward the staircase, taking her hand in his. "Now before anything else, let's get you settled in your room. Did Lorenzo say when dinner would be ready, Alice?"

"Yes sir. He said everyone should be seated at the table by seven-thirty," she replied, likely censoring and summarizing the volatile cook's more lengthy and colourful response. He never did appreciate his talents being limited to dishes as rudimentary as pizza.

Alistair nodded and proceeded up the stairs with Dianne. She seemed to have largely forgotten what the manor looked like, but that was to be expected. The last time she'd been there had to have been almost three years ago. Usually, they stayed in his London townhouse for the duration of her visits. She was still practically a baby the last time they'd been to the country house together.

"I love the stairs, Daddy!" she exclaimed, grinning up at him as they reached the top. "It's just like in Beauty and the Beast. Is... Is there a big room for dancing in, too?"

Alistair laughed. "There is, actually. The ballroom on the south wing. Though it hasn't been used for that in a  _long_  time. I can show you later." He looked up and down the hall before his eyes fell on the open door near the end. "Ah, here we are. Your  _la chambre_ _à coucher_."

Dianne perked up, cheeks colouring slightly. "I-I've been learning French, you know. Mommy wanted me to start learning another language and she said you spoke it. S-So I thought it'd be nice if I could speak it too."

"I know," he said, grinning down at her. "In fact I thought I could continue your lessons while you're here, if you want."

Her face lit up and she sharply nodded. "I do! I... Wow." Dianne's mouth fell open as she took in the room. Like most of the bedrooms in the manor, it was  _big_ , with high ceilings and equally high windows. The furniture was all of a victorian style, and on the large, impeccably made bed sat a fluffy white bear and a collection of matching balloons with the words "Welcome Dianne!" printed on them. Alistair made a mental note to add a significant bonus to May's pay-check next month.

The young girl bounced excitedly and looked up at him. Alistair grinned and nodded. "Go on, love. I'll be downstairs. Feel free to explore the rest of the house too. Just don't get lost!"

Dianne grinned and nodded, jogging into the room and immediately going to examine the huge, four-poster bed. He shook his head, smiling slightly as he headed back downstairs.

* * *

Dinner had been a quiet affair. It ended up being just him and Dianne seated at the ludicrously large dining room table; Alice had remained standing close-by before Alistair told her to take a break. Vadim and Zach were dismissed for the evening, and decided to explore the nearby town and all the entertainment its three pubs had to offer. May elected to eat her dinner elsewhere, believing he and Dianne needed the time alone to catch up.

Catching up turned out to be a much more difficult task than Alistair had initially thought. He'd always known Dianne to be a quiet girl, and maybe he was just imagining it, but she seemed to retreat further and further into herself every time she visited. It didn't help that the pair of them had next to nothing in common. He'd tried to feign an interest in her talk of Disney and whatnot, but something told him she could see through his lack of genuine intrigue. No six-year-old should be anywhere near as perceptive as she was.

The manor, on the other hand, she was besotted with. To Dianne, it seemed to be the equivalent of a castle. He knew Olivia and Nick lived in a fairly large house on the upper east side. Alistair had only ever seen it once before while visiting for Dianne's fourth birthday. It was more of a modern, sleek abode with chrome colours and wall-to-wall ridiculous artwork most would pay a small fortune for. According to Dianne, it was  _okay_. The manor on the other hand was – to quote her precisely – "like Elsa's castle, but not made of ice", whatever that meant.

Alistair told himself tomorrow would be easier. They would both be more relaxed and actually doing fun activities, as opposed to just sitting there making idle smalltalk. It was pressing eight o'clock when he rose from the kitchen table. Dianne was shown into the parlour by Emma, another maid, while Alice set about clearing the table. Alistair made to follow the pair of them in but got no further than the end of the table before his phone rang.

His hand automatically went to it, mouth answering, "Yes?"

"Sir, the board of directors are asking whether the meeting is to go ahead without you," Neela said.

He mentally cursed. The board position still needed to be filled.

"No. Tell them I'll be participating via video call. Give me five minutes."

"Yes sir."

Alistair noticed the sympathetic look Alice sent his way as he hastily left the room. He passed by May on the way up the stairs to his office.

"Meeting," he simply grunted in response to her look.

"Ah. Shall I inform Dianne?"

He stopped halfway up the staircase, one hand on the bannister. A heavy sigh left him and he nodded. "Tell her I'll be done in time to read her a bedtime story."

* * *

Four hours later, Alistair stood outside Dianne's room. The door was ajar, but he knew she was fast asleep and had been for the past two hours. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and closed his eyes.  _Damn it_.

The meeting had ended just over two hours ago, but no sooner had he cut the video-call did his phone ring yet again. And again shortly after he finished that one. It was a process he was all too familiar with by this point. But by the time he finally managed to extricate himself from his office, he only then looked at the clock. Alistair had all but raced down the stairs to the first floor, heading straight for Dianne's room. His heart had dropped when he saw she was already fast asleep.

"Olivia's right," he muttered.

"About?"

He started, looking over to see May standing at the end of the staircase. Alistair frowned and looked back to Dianne's door. "Me."

She was quiet for a moment before humming. "Shall we discuss Dianne's itinerary for this summer."

Ah, right. He'd forgotten about that. "She sent it on to you too, eh?" he asked, walking down the stairs.

"Security in case it slipped your mind," she dryly replied.

They sat in the dining room, the table now bereft of everything save the printed out itinerary. Alistair made a face as he examined it. "Let's see. Horse-riding, swimming, music, French, ballet... Does Dianne even like half of these things?"

"I believe she is just learning to swim, though Olivia feels she shouldn't stop practicing while the lessons are on hold during the summer. Horse-riding is a favourite past-time of hers, or so I believe. Ballet is new to me – perhaps Olivia's suggestion? Music is definitely per Olivia's request, however. I do know Dianne is proving somewhat difficult in that endeavour."

"I don't blame her. Music is not for everyone..." he trailed off at the knowing look May sent him. Then added defensively, "The violin is hard!"

"Well, Dianne is learning the piano."

"Hmm." He stroked his chin in thought. "I'll handle her French lessons and take her horse-riding. See if you can find any good local instructors for swimming and piano."

"And how accredited should these instructors be?"

"Fully. And ensure they're... well, pleasant I suppose." He frowned and scratched above his eyebrow. "Avoid anyone similar to Ms. Tanaka."

Amusement crossed May's expression. "The woman was a world-renowned classical violinist, Alistair."

"And a drill instructor sent from hell!" he exclaimed, tone going uncharacteristically high-pitched. "No, I don't care how  _renown_  they are. If they're even remotely close to what she was like, they're not teaching Dianne."

"Mm, very well," she conceded, neatly folding the papers and nodding. "And you have something planned for tomorrow, yes?"

"We do. Beach, ice-cream, bike-ride..." he trailed off, a yawn slipping out.

May held up a hand and frowned. "I'll start looking for instructors tomorrow. Perhaps place an ad online, and maybe have the local newspaper run one too. Off to bed with you now."

Alistair smiled weakly and stood up. "Thank you. Goodnight, May."

"Goodnight," she primly returned, though he saw a flicker of a smile cross her expression as he left.

Alistair stopped in front of Dianne's room. The least he could do was drop in and kiss her goodnight. His hand just touched the door before an all too familiar bleep caused him to pause. Alistair's shoulders sagged and he reluctantly took out the phone. His finger hovered over the power button before he turned to his office and lifted it to his ear.

"Yes? ...No, it's fine. Go ahead."

* * *

 


	7. Nocturne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Jesus, is this chapter longer than I had intended. XD Ah well. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> And thanks very much to Midnight for the review last chapter. :D As always, comments are greatly appreciated!

The first week in the cottage went by relatively slowly for Finn. Though initially content to sit idle, doing little more than watching TV and rising every couple of hours to take the dogs for a walk, this pattern didn't last long past the second day. It was with some reluctance that he forced himself to become more productive. He decided to start with the attic, knowing full well it was going to be the most heavily cluttered part of the house and wanting to get it over and done with.

He'd barely been able to get the hatch open for all the junk weighing it down. And when he finally did, it was pure luck and good reflexes that he hadn't been crushed beneath the avalanche of crap which rained down the next second. Labelling one box "keep" and another "junk", Finn then began to sort through his grandmother's ridiculous collection of oddments.

It soon became apparent that his mother's assessment of his gran's hoarder status had been a gratuitous understatement. Once the second week came around, he'd barely made a dent in the amount of stuff he had yet to go through. And the dogs were no help whatsoever. Three times did Guinness III pick up and run off with some random item she mistook for a chew toy. Suffice to say, Finn was more than ready to take a break when the weekend hit.

He'd turned off his digital alarm. It was a Saturday morning and damn it, he wanted an extra few hours in bed. Unfortunately, that did little to dissuade his  _other_  alarm from making itself known. A weight clumsily landed on his bed while a cold nose poked at his face still buried in the pillow. This was followed by a slobbery tongue laving over his ear.

"Urgh! Damn it, Miller," he grumbled, twisting around to glare at the remorseless corgi. Finn wiped at his ear. "I can't sleep in for one day? Just one?"

A happy bark was the dog's only reply.

"You suck."

Finn grumpily kicked off his blankets and dragged himself out of bed, Miller hopping up excitedly and running on ahead. He yawned and scrubbed a hand through his hair, trudging into the bathroom. A quick shower had him feeling slightly less groggy, though he still shot a sour look at the three dogs which were waiting outside once he exited the bathroom. Miller, Corona, and Kopparberg all looked up at him, tongues lolling out of their mouths and tails wagging.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you guys need to use the toilet?" he droned, tossing the towel into the laundry basket and wandering into the kitchen. The three scuttled after him and joined the other four which were already waiting at their food dishes. Finn shook his head with a helpless grin. "Right, right. The household bitch is up and ready to serve his honourable canine masters."

He doled out their food and chucked the empty tins into the bin. It was then Finn finally took note of the dwindling food supplies. He frowned, going to the cupboards and fridge.

"Shit," he muttered, blowing out a sigh. How had he gone through all that food in one week? Sure as hell didn't feel like he'd eaten that much. Ah well, time to make a grocery run. He made himself a quick breakfast of cereal and tea before fetching his wallet. Then paused. "Fuck."

Down to his last hundred. He had money in the bank, sure. But that was limited too. And he  _really_  didn't want to end up in a position where he was forced to ask his parents for a loan. Finn huffed to himself. There was no other solution. He needed to get a job. It was a fact he'd known from the start – and something his mother had repeatedly pointed out – but which he'd simply put off and out of his mind. Now there was no getting away from it. Finn mulishly fell into one of the kitchen chairs, ignoring the curious look some of the dogs gave him.

"I guess it's just for a bit of extra money while I'm here. Not like I'll be stuck doing it forever," he mumbled to himself.

Maybe bar-tending at one of the local pubs? Finn hummed and sat up straighter.  _Actually, that would work_. And they might even let him play on one of their live music nights. That could provide some really good exposure.

He nodded to himself, deciding to contact each of the three pubs later that day. He'd worked as a bar-tender all throughout college, and if he could handle shit-faced undergraduates, he could handle whatever the quiet little seaside town threw at him. In the meantime though, he still needed to pick up more food.

No sooner did Finn leave the house did the Imperial March start playing from his pocket. He took out his phone, letting the door swing shut behind him.

"Hello?"

"Hey Finn!" Niamh cheerfully greeted.

"Hey!" He grinned, glad to hear from her. It was the first time they managed to talk since she'd left a week ago.

"How's it going over there?"

"Good. Great! ...Okay, a  _little_  boring," he relented. "And I'm almost out of money."

She snorted. "Well, obviously. I figured you knew you were going to have to get a job eventually."

"Course I did," he replied, slightly indignant. "In fact, I'm already planning on applying for work in the local pubs."

"Hmm, probably worth checking out the newsagents and supermarket too? See if they're looking for part-timers."

Finn made a face. He  _wanted_  to work in the bar, not some shop. But Niamh was probably right. "Eh, I guess. If I don't get something in the pub, might be worth having a backup plan."

"Exactly. And once you get something, it should help stave off the boredom too," she stated. "Let me know how it goes. How're the dogs by the way?"

"I'd be going crazy if I didn't have them to keep me company... Though I may still be going crazy. I reckon it's only a matter of time till I start having full blown conversations with them."

Niamh snickered. "Well, let me know if it gets really bad. I can probably arrange to visit some weekend."

"Thanks," he said, smiling. "So how is everyone?"

"Mmm, busy week for Mam. The restaurant had a health inspection. Dad has been stuck in his office grading exam papers since Monday – finally took a break today," she said. "The new job is tough, but I love it. Everyone in the hospital is very friendly. All in all, nothing major to report."

"Well, no news is good news eh?"

"Yup. Oh, I gotta go in a minute. Meeting Tim for brunch!"

"...Brunch? Seriously?"

"Yeah, brunch. What of it?"

"It's just such a fad. And a completely pointless meal. I mean who's really  _that_  hungry between breakfast and lunch?"

"Have you ever  _had_  brunch, Finn? Because, brother of mine, I'm here to tell you that it is  _the_  most awesome meal of the day. Warm croissants and gourmet jam, with freshly washed sugar-coated berries and rich, syrup covered pancakes. Not to mention how the restaurant is set up! All pearly white doilies and the most  _adorable_  tea sets imaginable."

"You know what you've just described, sis? A late breakfast. One swimming with type two diabetes by the sounds of things."

"Hah! Says the guy who guzzles biscuits like aunt Susan downs Strawberry Daiquiris."

"Hmm. Touché."

* * *

The shop had some of the regulars already lined up with groceries by the time Finn got there. Most of them already knew him to see him, but few bothered with more than a friendly smile or wave. It was some of the older women whom he needed to watch out for. His first trip to the local shop had ended with him being ensnared by Mrs. French, who seemed oblivious to all clear social cues when it came to him trying to get away. He'd been stuck talking to her for almost forty minutes before someone else hit her radar and he managed to escape. Thankfully, he saw no sign of her upon entering the shop that day.

Finn breathed out in relief and quickly gathered what he needed. Milk, bread, fruit, meat, veg, tea, dog food. Just necessities. He saw custard creams were fifty percent off and quickly chucked a packet into his basket as well. Yes, necessities. It was only when he reached the checkout that he remembered what Niamh had said.

"Hey, um. No chance you guys are hiring at the moment?" he asked Mildred, the cashier. She was an elderly woman with a hearing-aid in each ear and glasses thick as a doorframe.

"Hmm?" she asked, tilting her head to the side with a curious smile.

Finn raised his voice a little and repeated, "Are you hiring at the moment?"

Again, she looked blankly back at him. He sighed and reluctantly brought his volume to a quiet yell. "Are you hiring at the-?"

"She's just messing with you, you know. Little joke of hers."

He froze. Shit... He remembered that voice. Oh damn, did he remember that voice.  _Okay. Be cool, Finn. Just... Just be cool_. He drew in a quiet breath and simply tilted his head back a fraction. Not enough to properly see him, but enough to acknowledge his presence.

"Huh. Cheers."

_Nice. Just the right level of apathy_.

He turned back to the old woman and scowled. "Hilarious, Mildred. So is it a yes or no?"

She snickered and shook her head, scanning his groceries through. "Afraid not, love. Have a look at the local paper. Sometimes it runs ads for odd jobs around the town."

Finn huffed and nodded, turning to grab a paper from the nearby stand.

"Here."

A copy was suddenly handed to him and on instinct, Finn looked up...  _Damn. Only_ he _could make the unshaven hobo-look seem hot_. James still sufficiently dwarfed him in both stature and height. It also looked like he'd recently gotten back from a stint out to sea; the scruffy beard and shaggy, unkempt hair were a dead giveaway. Though the lack of fish stink probably meant he'd at least managed to get a shower in before heading to the shop.

Willing himself to appear nonchalant, Finn smiled. "Thanks."

"No worries, mate," he said, offering a crooked grin in response.

It was impossible to tell whether James even remembered him. Though in all honesty, why would he? A one... well, three-night stand several years ago probably didn't make for a lasting impression on a guy such as him. Finn doubted he'd have even recognised James at first glance if it hadn't been for that sexy cockney drawl.

Mildred ran the newspaper through and he paid for his stuff, determined to play off the whole thing as casual as possible. He gathered his groceries and got about as far as the door before James' voice followed after him.

"Hey! You forgot this."

Finn halted just outside the shop, turning to see the fisherman emerge with his own bag. He was holding out a packet of noodles and Finn frowned.

"Umm, that's not mine."

James blinked and examined the packet. "Oh right. Sorry. Mine then. Whoops," he laughed it off, shrugging and depositing the packet into his bag. "I'm James by the way. You new in town?"

Finn struggled to keep a straight face. Okay. So, even if he didn't remember him, clearly the guy was still interested. He took a moment to preen over that fact before replying, "Seriously?  _You forgot this?_  That's a hell of a pickup technique."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," James said, though his eyes flashed in amusement. Then he frowned, looking closer at him. "Actually, you look familiar... Have we met before?"

He twitched and looked elsewhere, suddenly awkward. "Ahem. Well, we... sort of..."

A slow kind of comprehension dawned on James' face and he snapped his fingers. "Shit. We did didn't we?" He flinched at his own wording and rubbed the back of his head. "Uhm, right. You're... You're..."

"Finn," he supplied, not particularly offended that James didn't remember his name.

"I knew that. I did. I... Sorry," he said, smiling apologetically at him. "So, um. What brings you back here?"

"Got some family stuff to take care of in my gran's house. She passed away recently and I'm sorting out her personal belongings before we sell it."

"Ah. I'm real sorry to hear that, mate. Ms. Cassidy, yeah? Spoke to her once or twice. She seemed like a hell of a lady," he said with a sympathetic frown.

"She was," Finn replied, smiling a little. "And thanks."

A brief, uncomfortable silence set in before James cleared his throat and spoke again. "Umm, how long you reckon you're gonna be here then?"

"Maybe a year." He shrugged. "Depends on how long it takes all the administrative crap for selling the house to get dealt with."

"A year?" James exclaimed, eyebrows lifting. "Wow... Explains why you're looking for work, eh?"

"Yeah. I'm only one week in and already I can feel myself going stir-crazy," he grumbled. "Need  _something_  to occupy my time and get me out of the house."

James nodded in understanding. Then, catching Finn's eye, a certain look crossed his face and he grinned. "Well hey. I'm not heading out again for another week. If you wanna meet up and, ugh, get a drink sometime to help ward off the boredom, give me a call."

The suggestion could have been interpreted as completely innocent, had it not been for the unmistakable eye-fucking going on the second his met James'. Finn let a lopsided smile slip into place.

"Hmm, sounds better than sitting home alone watching Top Gear with the dogs and a bottle of Jack," he said. "You got the same number?"

"Yep. You?"

"Yeah. So if you're not leaving again for another week, I'm guessing you just got back?"

"Yesterday. But don't worry. Promise I'll shave before we meet up." James rose an eyebrow inquisitively. "Unless you  _like_  the caveman look?"

"Hmm. Maybe lose a few inches off the beard, at the very least." Finn smirked and moved to head off. "Well then. I guess I'll call you."

"Look forward to it," James laughed, turning to continue on his way too.

Finn made it about five steps before he couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder. He was equal parts surprised and pleased to catch James already surreptitiously checking him out from behind. The fisherman didn't even flinch at getting caught in the act. Just flashed him a wink and strolled off. Finn snorted and turned back, grinning to himself.

* * *

"Okay but... Yeah, I understand. But are you sure you can't take on just  _one more_  person?... How long? Um, just for... You know, a year." Finn winced and sighed, resting his chin in his hand. "Yeah, I know. Can you maybe keep me in mind for any live music nights?... Thanks. You too."

He set his phone back on the table and groaned, letting his head connect with the surface. Well, that was the last of the three pubs down. And none of them needed anymore bar-tenders. Fantastic.

"Now what?" he mumbled to himself. Finn lifted his head a fraction, eyes settling on the newspaper he'd bought earlier sitting near the end of the table. After a brief internal debate he blew out a dramatic puff of air, picking it up and relocating to the sitting room. "I'm not doing anything involving horses," he told Jameson, who was already asleep on the couch. "Those things freak me out. No dung shovelling either. I still have my pride... For now."

He plonked himself into the armchair and leafed through the paper, coming to a stop two pages in on the job adverts; there were three in total. Finn looked them over. Lifeguard? Nope. Cleaner? Nope. Piano instructor? ...Hmm. He straightened a little and examined the paragraph detailing the position.

_**Fully Qualified Piano Instructor Wanted** _

_Immediate start_

_Good pay_

_Flexible hours_

_Aside from possessing an undergraduate degree in music/music education and having at least an advanced-intermediate level in piano, the right candidate must possess a friendly disposition and be good with children. This is a short-term position which will last up to a maximum of three months. All candidates are required to email a CV and any other appropriate documentation to the address outlined below. Those who match the criteria will be contacted promptly to arrange a face-to-face interview._

Finn reread the ad a number of times. He needed money. There was no way around that. And while teaching was never his first choice, he did like the idea of making a living off of his music. It was a start, at least. He spent another minute staring at the paragraph before setting the paper to one side and grabbing his laptop. Finn threw together a quick email – no bullshit, just short and to the point – and sent it off with the appropriate attachments, immediately putting the job out of his mind after that. He didn't expect to hear back for another few days. If ever.

It was barely an hour later that his phone rang. He scrambled over to it, having been in the process of making dinner at the time.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Good evening. Am I speaking to Mr. Clarke?" a cool, silky voice asked on the other line.

"Umm, yes."

"I am May Waterstone. You applied for the position of piano instructor advertised in the Weekly Print. I'm calling to invite you to an interview."

To say he was surprised would be an understatement. "Oh! Wow, um. That's great-"

"Would tomorrow afternoon at one o'clock suffice?" she cut him off with all the sharpness of a guillotine.

"Y-Yeah, definitely. Do I need to bring anything?"

"I will forward you an email with all the details. Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Clarke. I look forward to meeting you."

With that she hung up. Finn took a second to scowl at the phone. "Huh. She sounds like a bundle of laughs."

Then the fact sunk in. He had an interview. His first proper interview in months. The thought filled him with as much excitement as it did nausea. He quickly checked his email and saw the woman had already sent on the details.  _"Details"_  was perhaps a generous word however, as she offered him no new information aside from the location and dress code for the interview.  _Formal wear. Wonderful._  He examined the address and frowned, squinting at it.  _Wait. That... That looks familiar_. As he read it aloud, something in the back of his mind stirred.

Finn typed it into a Google Map search, muttering to himself, "Where have I seen that before?"

A second later, the search results appeared onscreen. Finn stared at the map, expression going from sceptical to dumbstruck. It was the estate located across from his grandmother's cottage. The one on the other side of the river. The big, black, looming manor he'd always looked at with a certain warm familiarity ever since he was a kid.

Finn sat back against the chair and stared wide-eyed at the screen. "There's no way... I mean... How could it..." He gave his head a sharp shake, willing the dazed confusion to fade. "Okay. There's absolutely no guarantee it is what you think it is, Finn. For all you know, someone else could live there now. Or... Or maybe it's just being used for this purpose and the actual job has nothing to do with the place." He nodded once. "Yeah. Definitely."

He was grasping at straws and he knew it. But damn it, he was going to be freaked out enough about the interview itself. The best thing he could do was put...  _that_  possibility out of his mind. For the moment at least. It was out of his control and he'd likely find out tomorrow anyway.

A stark realisation then suddenly struck Finn and he shot to his feet so quick he startled the sleeping Jameson. "The email said formal wear! Shit."

And his suit from the funeral had been a rental which he'd sent back with his family. Crap! Finn smacked his forehead, desperately thinking of where he could get a suit at such short notice. He thought back to the untouched box of clothes in the attic, most of which was his grandfather's old stuff. A grimace pulled at his expression and he groaned.

"I'm gonna go to the interview smelling of mothballs and dust!"

* * *

Finn had gotten to sleep late that night, having spent well over an hour digging through his grandparent's stuff in search of a suit which wasn't tweed. This proved to be a fruitless endeavour, and eventually he had to settle on a grey three-piece one. Thankfully, it wasn't dirty. Just dusty. He'd had to take it outside and more or less beat it against the side of a wall until he was satisfied most of the dust had been shaken off.

The next morning he was a nervous wreck. Normally interviews didn't freak Finn out so much. But the prospect of running into... It just meant there was a lot on his mind. He had made sure the dogs were well fed before he left, getting in a quick shower and spending a total of ten minutes messing with his hair in front of the mirror.

"Damn it. Stay down," he grumbled, trying to comb it flat. A moment later, strands began to spring upright once more. Finn glared at it and sighed. "Fine. Be that way."

In the end, he managed to get it into a relatively okay style. Not neat, but not messy.  _Slightly scruffy is a type of style, right?_  By the time he got into his suit it was already 12:45. He cursed and quickly grabbed his phone and car keys before heading out.

It wasn't until he found himself in front of the large imposing gates of the estate that Finn realised this would be his first real visit to the manor. An odd sense of anticipation curdled in his gut as he drove up to the tall black bars. For a second he wasn't sure what he should do. Call the woman? Get out of the car?

As though in answer to his silent query, the gates slowly began to open. He took a second to gawk at them before driving on.

"Okay. That's pretty fucking cool."

Automatic gates were one thing, but those were the most authentically gothic looking ones he'd ever seen. The path he drove along took him through a neatly kept forest road. This eventually opened to reveal a large expanse of flat green grass on all sides; a wide circular hedge maze sat in the centre, while a white marble fountain rose up at the top. Above all of this, and on a slight incline above the rest of the estate, was the manor. And  _ho-ly_  crap. If Finn had thought it seemed big before, that was nothing compared to seeing the place firsthand in all its Victorian glory.

It was a struggle to keep himself focused on the path he was driving. The garden seemed to stretch all around the estate, while the fountain split off into two smaller paths, running in parallel lines down the main garden before joining at the end. Along the way he saw a few gardeners tending to the bushes and flowers, none of which so much as paused in their work as he drove past. On the fringes of the estate a forest of evergreens rose up, sufficiently surrounding and concealing it from the outside world; the reason why the only thing Finn had ever been able to see before was the pointed roof of the manor itself.

He must have been driving for another five minutes, if not more, by the time he finally came to a stop in front of what looked like the main entrance. There was a set of wide stone steps leading up to the huge doorway. Finn awkwardly drummed his fingers on the wheel before sucking in a calming breath and getting out. He barely reached the door, much less lifted his hand to knock, when it suddenly swung open.

A shadow fell over him and Finn blinked, slowly lifting his gaze. He found himself staring up into the tattooed, slightly scarred, and incredibly threatening face of perhaps the biggest man he had ever seen. The guy was a mountain, practically filling the entire doorway with his height and bulk. Near the top, Finn could vaguely make out a head of dark, shaved hair.

"Umm... h-hi." A fearful smile twitched onto his face. "I'm here for the... the interview."

A moment of horrifying silence followed, wherein the man simply stared down at him with nothing but a stoic glower. Finn could already feel himself breaking out into a cold sweat and was glad he hadn't had a heavy breakfast that morning. Somehow he didn't think vomiting on his feet would help the situation. The man's hard, calculating eyes scanned him from head to foot before finally,  _finally_ , he stood aside.

"Fine," he grunted in a heavy Russian accent. When Finn remained rooted in place, his eyes sharpened and he growled, " _Move_."

With an undignified squeak, Finn rushed inside. Some of his apprehension faded when he took in the manor's interior. Because... wow. The room – which he could only guess to be the main hallway – was huge. Its ceiling seemed to go on forever with a set of intricately designed, stained glass windows at the top. Ahead of him, a pair of large marble staircases shot up and joined together, leading to the first floor.

His gaping was cut short when the man silently pointed to another door on his right. Finn reluctantly but obediently proceeded into the next room. He was about two steps inside when a loud, cheerful voice suddenly boomed from behind him.

"Hey there!"

A noise which he would vehemently deny making left Finn as he jumped and swivelled round, looking like a startled cat. A new man stood behind him. And he was a  _significant_  change from the mammoth who'd answered the door. Younger with a small, lithe stature, curly blonde hair, and a tanned complexion, he was  _very_  attractive – almost pretty _–_ and spoke in a soft American accent.

"You must be the next candidate, eh?" The man was already shaking his hand and talking again before Finn could get a word in edgewise. "Third one today too. No luck with the first two. But third time's the charm am I right?" He grinned and poked Finn in the shoulder. "I like the suit. Tweed right? Classy. Anyhow, I can see by your expression of unbridled terror that you've already had the pleasure of meeting my compadre, Vadim. Not exactly as easy on the eyes as myself, but a damn good bowler. So Finn – can I call you Finn? I'm Zach by the way. Tell me..." He paused and looked at him intently. "What have you thought of the weather lately?"

Finn stared at him, face white as a sheet of paper. "I... Um... Should I fear for my life at this point?"

Zach was quiet for a second before suddenly laughing. "Hah! Nice. I like you, man. Funny. First funny one we've had today actually. Always a good quality. But nah. You don't need to be worried about that. We've got orders to never touch anyone unless they warrant it. And based on my meagre assessment, I'd say you're alright. Definitely not the creeper type."

A sliver of umbrage surfaced through the fog of fear and confusion, bringing a slight scowl to Finn's face. What? Had this whole thing been some kind of weird screening process?

"I'm  _not_ -"

"Oh, wipe off the sourpuss face, dude. I know you're not. Why do you think I'm here in the first place?" Zach smiled again, but it was a very different smile. It didn't seem to reach his eyes in the slightest. "I rarely need to hear more than five words come outta a fella's mouth before I know his score. And already I can tell you're about as dangerous as a newborn kitten."

Finn tried not to look too relieved and sarcastically muttered, "Thanks."

"It's a good thing. Trust me," he said, tone going serious for a moment. But then the jovial cheer was back. "Besides. As far as danger goes around here, that's me and Vad's arena. Anyone who brings something new to the table gets to deal with us." With that he swung his arm around Finn's suddenly very tense shoulders and steered him to another doorway. "Thankfully, that's something you don't have to worry about. But let's keep it that way, eh? Bare in mind, I've got more confirmed kills than you've had birthdays and Christmases."

_...…What?_

"Anyhow! Good luck, buddy."

Before Finn could even begin to voice his suddenly frenzied thoughts, he found himself being pushed into a new room and the door swinging shut behind him. He jumped at the bang it made and looked around, expecting to be accosted again at any minute.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Clarke."

The familiar, dry voice caused him to pause and look over to the centre of the room where two couches sat facing each other – the room itself appeared to be some kind of parlour. A finely dressed woman sat on one of them, gaze fixed on a set of papers in her hands.

"Please have a seat."

Finn spent a good minute just staring at her. Only when he realised she had no intention of meeting his gaze nor acknowledging what he'd just gone through, did he relent and move to sit on the chair opposite her.

"Okay... What the  _hell_  was that?!" he asked, sounding less rightfully annoyed and more hysterical.

"I take it you're referring to the pre-interview tests carried out by Mr. Pascal and Mr. Orlov," she said, still not looking up. "Your confusion is understandable, as I am aware it is a fairly unorthodox method. But you must understand. My employer is a prominent and wealthy businessman. Such men often attract the wrong sort of people. Despite the anonymity with which this process was carried out, we still feel it pertinent to ensure no undesirables find their way in. All candidates whom I invited today were required to do the same as you."

Finn opened his mouth and closed it, unsure of how to respond. Eventually, the woman looked up and met his baffled gaze.

"Take no offence, Mr. Clarke. You are the first of those I invited to have made it this far."

"And, uhm, how many did you invite?"

"Three, including yourself. Though don't think that means you are granted the job by default." Her eyes returned to the papers which she straightened out. "Let us first go through your CV..."

Everything after that was more or less a straightforward interview; albeit a very scrutinising, in-depth one. It was as though his encounter with Zach and Vadim hadn't even happened. The woman, whose name he remembered to be May Waterstone, appeared to be in her late fifties. She had tightly pinned-back dark red hair peppered with grey and seemed about as emotive as a toaster. But despite her less than forthcoming personality, Finn thought the interview was going rather well. It came as some surprise when, after reaching the end of his CV, she frowned and shook her head.

"I must say Mr. Clarke, I'm slightly disappointed. I expected at least some experience in music instruction. And the fact that you have been out of a job for almost a year now does not inspire confidence."

Finn honestly felt like screaming at her.  _Well then, why the fuck did you even invite me for an interview?_  Instead he drew in a breath to calm himself.

"I see. Sorry to waste your time," he ground out, moving to get up.

"I didn't say we were done, did I?"

He paused, frowning at her. "No. But I thought-"

"I'm merely stating my own personal thoughts. In terms of being qualified for the role itself, you have met the bare minimum of my employer's requirements."

He swallowed the sarcastic barb he desperately wanted to snap and instead nodded. "Okay... So now what?"

"Now comes the practical assessment." She gestured over her shoulder. Finn looked toward the end of the room and saw a large grand piano positioned near a window overlooking the manor's rear gardens. He turned back to her, eyes wide.

"I... I haven't prepared anything."

May didn't say anything. Simply set the papers on her lap and folded her hands over them, granting him a bland look. Finn understood. He could play or he could leave. It was up to him. Blowing out a tired sigh he stood up and walked over, fighting the urge to shoot the woman a dirty look.

The piano was a beautiful old thing, though it looked as though it hadn't been played in a long time. A sheen of dust covered it, which Finn brushed aside as he sat on the bench. Then took a second to think. What should he play? Naturally, his mind decided to turn a blank almost straight away. For a moment he panicked that all he could remember was the theme song to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles; the first tune he'd ever learned. He nervously glanced over at May and was mildly annoyed to see she wasn't even looking at him. Even if he didn't get the job, pride demanded he put on a damn good performance at the very least.

Suddenly, merciful inspiration came in the form of a piece he knew all too well. One his college professor had had him drill over and over again during his undergrad. Straightening his posture and bringing his hands to the keys, Finn began to play.

The second his finger hit the first note, the rest came to him like a second language; as permanently ingrained in his mind as the alphabet. While his hands danced over the ivory keys, Finn felt every ounce of anxiety that had built up since he first arrived begin to dissipate. He was never more at peace than while seated in front of a piano, and soon he was drifting through the melody with all the ease of a fish through water.

When he finally reached the end of the piece, he slowly – almost reverently – lifted his hands from the keyboard and set them on his lap. He looked over and was surprised to see May staring at him from over the couch. She had her chin resting in one hand and a far off look to her eyes; as though her thoughts were a million miles away. Seeing he was finished and now looking expectantly at her, she seemed to rouse herself and shake off whatever emotion had managed to surface. Finn smothered a grin.  _Yep. Still got it_.

May gave a stiff cough and nodded. "Well... That was impressive, Mr. Clarke." Her voice seemed almost mousy in comparison to the silence which filled the room after the song had ended. "Chopin's Nocturne, I believe?"

"Number twenty in C sharp minor," he added, reluctantly leaving the bench and wandering back over to the couch. "So... How'd I do?"

For a moment she simply looked at the papers in her hands. "I'll be honest. That was probably one of the best renditions of the piece I've ever heard... As far as I'm concerned, you more than qualify for the position."

He couldn't help but smile at the compliment. It seemed like ages since he'd gotten such praise for his music. And from a woman such as her, it made it all the more flattering.

"But the final decision is not mine to make. It's-"

"I'm hardly about to disagree after hearing  _that_ , May," a new voice cut in. And all at once, Finn felt his smile drop, stomach twist, and breath catch.

May turned in the direction of the voice. "Ah, you were listening then."

"I was going to get some coffee when I heard the start. Thought I'd come and listen to the rest. I'm glad I did."

Finn swallowed nervously.

"And I take it you're impressed?"

Slowly, he turned his gaze to the far end of the room. A pair of sliding wooden doors stood open – they appeared to lead into another area of the house. Leaning against one of them was a man equal parts familiar to Finn as he was strange. Dressed in a casual white shirt rolled up at the sleeves and plain black slacks, he cut as impressive a figure as ever, probably standing a good head taller than himself, with broad shoulders and a slight tan. His short black hair was lightly tousled, while his equally dark eyes were fixed solely on Finn.

He thought he heard May saying something – to which of them it was directed, he couldn't be sure – but his attention was glued to the man now staring back at him with just as much focus. He saw confusion, then uncertainty, finally followed by surprise cross his face.

Eventually, May seemed to pick up that she wasn't being heard. She rose her voice and stood up.

"Alistair?"

Finn saw him blink and look to her with a raised eyebrow.

"As... I said. This is Mr. Clarke. And, provided you are satisfied with what you have heard, I think he would make a fine piano instructor for Dianne."

Alistair was silent as he slowly looked back to him. Finn didn't know what to say. Did he recognise him? And did he even care if he did? Eventually, all he could do was raise one hand in an awkward little wave.

"Hey." He smiled feebly. "Umm... So. H-How's the wife?"

* * *

 


	8. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This here chapter was a little trickier to churn out. Mainly because I wasn't sure how best to handle the pair's newest meeting, seeing as they would both react in fairly different ways. :/ Here's hoping it came out well anyway!
> 
> Thanks again to Midnight for the feedback. :D Reviews are loved and treasured like a newborn puppy!

When he first heard the music, Alistair had been halfway down the main staircase. Having just completed a conference call with the executive officer of their newly established China HQ, his mind had been awhirl with company concerns. The only other thought he had been capable of processing was:  _I need coffee_. Then the bittersweet melody had slowly drifted up the steps, sinking through the fog in his mind and drawing him back into the present.

Alistair saw Vadim and Zach hanging around the main hallway, both suspiciously silent as he reached the end of the staircase. It took him a moment to realise they were listening to the music. Zach offered him a smile in greeting while Vadim simply nodded; the silence of the latter was nothing unusual, but from Zach it was unsettling. He rose an eyebrow in silent query and the shorter of the two bodyguards jerked his head in the direction of the parlour.

Curious, Alistair quietly slid open one of the doors. He saw May seated on a couch, gaze fixed on the grand piano. Alistair hadn't even recognised him at first. Mainly because he'd never have thought to put Finn and such music together. It was only when they stood facing each other, him finally taking note of the wide-eyed look he was receiving, that Alistair's mind began to connect the dots.

 _He looks different,_  Alistair thought.

Not  _very_  different. He still had the same shortish mousy brown hair in a state of perpetual scruffiness, the same grey eyes and rosy complexion with a dapple of freckles running across his face. Maybe it was the suit that made him look different. He'd never seen Finn in a suit, or anything close to formal wear before.

And of course, Finn being Finn had to break the silence in the most unintentionally hilarious way possible. Alistair managed to smother his laughter, but was unable to keep a sardonically amused smile from crossing his expression. The comment did serve to bring him back into the present however, prompting him to turn to May and nod.

"Fine with me. Provided Mr. Clark is willing to accept, of course."

There was a beat of silence before Finn snorted. " _Mr. Clark_  wouldn't be here today if he wasn't."

 _And just as much of a smart-ass as ever_.

"Very well," May said, gathering her papers. "I shall print out the necessary documentation so we can make everything official."

With that, she offered them both a curt nod before leaving the room.

Alistair looked at Finn. Finn looked at Alistair. It took a moment, but he finally managed to rouse himself from the brief stupor he'd fallen into. It was ridiculous, really. Certainly, seeing Finn again after all these years was a surprise, but that was no need to act like a thunderstruck moron. Clearing his throat and straightening up, Alistair stepped forward and held out his hand with a cordial smile.

"Well, it's good to see you again, Finn."

He stared blankly at him for a second before slowly shaking his hand. Alistair didn't really register the perplexed look he was being granted and instead inclined his head, indicating Finn follow him.

"So just a few things you should know before starting out," he said, easily falling back into his default business front. It was easier to do when not directly facing him. "Your student is going to be my daughter, Dianne. She's six years old and has just recently begun to play the piano. Though I understand she's proven somewhat difficult in most lessons. Do what you can, but if she proves excessively troublesome, inform May."

"Shouldn't I inform  _you_?"

Alistair almost paused. The question had been asked in an unmistakably pointed tone. Ignoring it for now, he instead answered, "Chances are I'll be unavailable at the time. If problems persist and she becomes especially difficult, May will inform me and I will speak to Dianne."

A brief silence followed. "Okay..." Finn replied, voice sounding tight. Again, Alistair took little notice.

"Your actual hours will be liable to change, though May shall give you as early notice as possible for any last minute alterations. From you, we expect to be informed of such at least a week before the next scheduled lesson, emergencies notwithstanding." He proceeded up the main staircase, able to hear Finn still silently trailing behind him. "The plan for now is to have lessons every Monday evening from five to seven, and every Thursday afternoon from twelve to one."

Coming to a stop near the top of the stairs, he paused to look back at him. "Is that arrangement suitable?"

For a second Finn looked like he wanted to say something, but then simply shrugged and nodded. "Suits me fine."

"Very good. In terms of payment," he continued, turning to proceed down the hall and considering the matter of hours settled. "We decided on one hundred an hour. Does that sound acceptable?"

The silence that followed this time was an unmistakably gobsmacked one. Alistair smirked and resisted turning around to get a look at the undoubtably hilarious expression on Finn's face.

"That... is very acceptable. Yes."

"Excellent."

They came to a stop near the end of the hallway, standing in front of a closed wooden door which Alistair then opened. Dianne was in the middle of the playroom, seated at a nicely laid out small white table. On the other four chairs, a selection of stuffed toys – including her recent gift "from him" – were placed. She immediately looked up when the door opened, eyes lighting up upon seeing him but then flicking curiously in the direction of Finn.

"Dianne, there's someone I want you to meet," he said, moving into the room and gesturing he follow. Finn smiled and waved.

"Hey Dianne. I'm Finn."

She quickly ducked her head and answered in a small voice, "Hi."

Alistair took a second to tilt his head back and mutter, "She's also very shy."

"I'd never have guessed," he dryly replied, stepping into the room and crouching down to speak to her at her own height. "Sorry to interrupt your tea party. Hope your guests don't mind?"

She didn't answer. After a second, Alistair sighed and gently prompted her, "Dianne."

A silent head shake was her only response. Better than nothing, he supposed.

Finn didn't seem perturbed though, and ploughed on. "Who's this one?" he asked, pointing toward the most recent addition.

She toyed with the plastic teacup in her hands for a second before mumbling, "Princess Luna."

"Wow. It's an honour to meet you, your highness," he said, offering a slight bow to the toy. Alistair swallowed a snort. "That's a cool name! Does she have any special powers?"

Dianne briefly glanced at him before quickly looking down. "She can go into dreams and stuff."

"That's awesome! Kind of like a telepath," he said.

Alistair leant against the doorframe as Finn continued to engage Dianne in conversation. Conversation meaning he would ask a question and she would either mumble something, shake her head, or nod, to which he would reply with an unusual level of enthusiasm. Alistair didn't really understand why it was necessary, but was too intrigued to interrupt.

"So I hear you're learning the piano!"

Another silent nod.

"That's awesome. You know, I play the piano too," he said, grinning. Alistair looked between the two of them. He was surprised to see Dianne look up, this time actually maintaining eye contact.

"D-Do you like it?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she asked it, but he seemed to hear her nonetheless. "Yup. I love it. It means I can play any song I want. Like... Hmm, do you like Disney songs?"

The second the word "Disney" left his mouth, Dianne seemed to light up like a Christmas tree. She nodded sharply.

"Cool! Me too. Do you know any from Frozen?"

Another rapid head nod was her response, coupled with a fast growing smile.

"Oh yeah? Which do you like?"

" _Let It Go_!" she exclaimed. "Do you know that one?"

"Yeah I do. Great song. I can show you how to play it if you want?"

"Yes please!" Alistair almost jumped at how loud she said it. "Can you show me now?"

He hesitated and looked back to him. "Lessons on a Monday and Thursday, right?"

"Like I said, open to change." An amused smile crooked his expression. Finn offered a small one of his own before standing.

"I'd need sheet music. You have a printer handy?"

"I'll say it to May," he replied, looking down as Dianne got up and trotted over to him. She lightly tugged on his sleeve, prompting him to stoop down.

"He seems nice," she whispered, before grinning and disappearing through the doorway.

* * *

It wasn't long after Finn and Dianne retreated to the parlour that Alistair had had to take another work call in his office. When he was finished, he dropped in to see how things were progressing. The pair were seated at the grand piano. Finn would hit a few keys in slow succession, saying each note aloud and occasionally pointing back to the sheet music propped up in front of them. Dianne in turn would copy him precisely, brow furrowed in unusually deep focus.

After a few minutes of silent observation, Finn finally noticed him watching from the doorway. Alistair smiled and waved as indication for him to ignore him. A vaguely amused look was his response. But not a minute later, a fresh ring from his phone tore Alistair from the scene and forced him to return to his office.

The remainder of his afternoon was subsequently spent there. By the time he got back downstairs it was almost four and Finn had already left.

"Well, that went better than expected," May said from her seat in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee. Alistair sat opposite, distractedly going through the paperwork she'd printed off and had Finn sign. "Dianne seems to be happy with him anyway."

He absently grunted, more vexed than he'd care to admit that Finn had left without a word. "He didn't ask for me before he left?"

"No," she replied, tone curious. "Why?"

"No reason." He sighed and pushed the papers back to her. "Everything looks to be in order. Did he raise any eyebrows about the confidentiality agreement?"

"Mmm, not as such. He did seem uncertain as to why it was necessary at first – I don't think he fully understood who you were. After I explained, he made no further objections about signing it."

Alistair kept a straight face and nodded. So... all those years and Finn really never figured out his family's connections to Blackburn International. Though to be fair, in the past Alistair had always taken great care to never mention what exactly his father's company was. It was odd, but when he was younger he'd simply liked the idea of having at least one friend who didn't know. Almost as though there could be no doubt in his mind that they liked him for  _him_ , and not the money or power that came with his name.

"Good. I suppose he'll be here again this Thursday?"

"Tomorrow," May corrected. "Dianne insisted. She wants to learn how to play that song by the end of the week. Mr. Clarke said he would be happy to put in some free time if need be."

"No. If he's working, he's getting paid. And if Dianne wants him to stay for an extra hour, or come in an extra day during the week – and he's willing – then so be it," he said.

She nodded and Alistair stood up. He needed to get back to his office and finish reading through those reports on how the Toronto shipping yards were doing under their new management: the woman he'd promoted to take up the position left empty after Williams' dismissal.

He barely made it through the doorway before Alice suddenly caught him en route, looking more than a little frazzled. "Sir, there's... a man here to see you."

Alistair turned to her, eyebrow raised. "It's not the same man from earlier, is it?"

"No sir. He said it wasn't urgent but that he wanted to see you. And well... he then proceeded into the house, though I told him he had to wait. He ignored me... I've informed Zach and Vadim."

"Did he say who he was?" Alistair asked, frowning.

"No sir. Though he has parked a rather expensive-looking car outside."

"Hmm. I'll go check it out. Thank you, Alice."

She nodded and left him to it. He proceeded through the house, walking down the hallway leading to the main entrance where he heard voices. One of which, he instantly labelled as Zach. The other was difficult to place. Alistair pushed open the door and stopped short when he saw who was standing there. An annoyed sound left him.

"Tell me, Zach. Do the words, "please stick to standard communication channels" mean something different in the US?" he asked, stepping forward.

Vadim was looming near the end of the staircase, straightening on instinct when Alistair announced his presence. Zach had his arms casually resting over the bannister. He donned a look of mock-consideration at Alistair's question.

"Mm, unless they changed it since I left, nope."

Alistair hummed and turned to the fourth occupant of the hallway. "So that begs the question as to why you are here, Mr. Carver?"

The CEO of Carver Industries simply grinned at him. Scott Carver, a multi-billionaire of the same standing as Alistair, having taken on the position of CEO after his own father retired at sixty one. He stood a couple of inches shorter than Alistair, with stylishly cut auburn hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. A pair of designer sunglasses sat atop his head and he was clad in casual, albeit clearly designer attire; jeans, leather jacket, and sneakers.

"Nice to see you too, Alistair," he chuckled, idly leaning back against the wall. "Any chance we could talk in private? I had the courtesy to leave my hired muscle at home, after all."

Alistair shot a quick glance to Zach and Vadim. After a second he sighed and nodded, waving them off. "I'll be fine," he said in response to the deepened glower from the Russian. Zach shrugged and hopped back, clapping Vadim on the shoulder.

"C'mon, lurch. Lets go get some eats." A growled comment in Russian was the man's response, to which Zach snorted. "Oh, you don't mean that."

When the pair of them disappeared through the front door, Carver laughed. "Quite the double-act you've got there. Where'd you find them? I imagine the big guy could deter threats just by looking at them, and the other... Well, it never hurts to have a little eye-candy around, eh?"

Alistair frowned, unimpressed. "This is both unorthodox and inappropriate, Mr. Carver."

"Man, if I had a dollar for every time someone said that to me. I'd have... Well, not as much as I have now, but you know." He snickered, waving off his own joke. "And please, call me Scott. Anyhow, this would be both of those things if I were here on company business."

"You're not?"

"Nope." He shook his head and pushed away from the wall, walking up to him. "Personal."

Alistair regarded him suspiciously. "And what manner of personal business could you have with me?"

"Simple really," Carver said, smiling crookedly. "I'd like to ask you out on a date."

The matter-of-fact, blasé way he said it almost made Alistair think he'd misheard him at first. "What?" he asked, incredulous.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?" he repeated, speaking slower and more clearly, looking him dead in the eye.

Alistair always prided himself on maintaining an almost flawless pokerface in all business endeavours. Even when the largest of bombshells were dropped at meetings, he never let his composure waver even slightly. But this... this had him completely at a loss.

"Why would you want to do that?" he asked, managing to keep some degree of dull indifference in his voice.

Carver looked at him as though he'd just asked the most stupid question imaginable. "You know I can't tell whether you're fishing for compliments, or really just that much of an idiot." Before Alistair could muster proper offence at the comment, he went on. "Let's see. Not counting that last question, you're smart. Sexy. Sophisticated. Charming. Nice, but with  _just_  the right amount of corporate ruthlessness. Unattached. And neither of our companies are linked, so no risk of making the fatal mistake of mixing business with, ahem, pleasure." He smirked and rocked back on his heels. "That a comprehensive enough answer, Alistair?"

He blinked and fought to keep his expression void of amusement. "Hmph... And how can you be sure I'm even interested in men?"

"You don't remember? Ah, I guess you were a little buzzed."

"What?"

"Charity banquet in Paris last year? You downed one too many champagne flutes and while we were talking let slip something about the waiter having a nice ass."

Alistair was quiet for a second, thinking back. "Damn. I did didn't I?"

"Yep." Carver grinned. "Once the surprise wore off – and it  _was_  a surprise – I got thinking. Then just recently, decided to pursue you. Though you've done a damn good job evading me, I have to say. Making me go so far as to fly in from Manhattan."

He snorted. "Oh please! You were already in the country for the grand opening of your newest London HQ."

"Well... Yeah. But I left behind the comforts of my penthouse suite in the city to come visit! Now you have to admit,  _that's_  dedication."

"It's unusual... from you," Alistair allowed.

"Ah, yeah. Guess it is." Carver rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I know I've got something of a... reputation. But if this were just about sex, I'd say that up front. I may be one of Cosmo's top playboys of the year, but at least I'm honest about it. All I'm asking for is coffee. Maybe lunch. I know a great place in Berlin!"

Alistair crossed his arms and looked down. It was a surreal experience, being asked out. He hadn't gone on many dates after separating from Olivia. Hadn't had the time or dedication to pursue any long-term commitments. There had been drinks, flings, one-night stands, but never anything of substance. To be asked for something that didn't automatically register as ending in sex – particularly from probably one of the most high profile playboys of the decade – was extremely odd for him. And Alistair was never comfortable in situations he didn't fully understand or control.

Eventually he looked up and sighed. "Look, I'm flattered. But my daughter's spending the summer with me. Any free time I have is already reserved for her."

Carver hummed and nodded. "I get it." He took a second to stroke his chin contemplatively. "She's here for the summer, then? Going home around August?"

"Yes, and-"

"No problemo then! I'll ask you again in September."

With that, he flipped his sunglasses back into place and swung back to the door. Alistair stared after him, eyes wide.

"Are you serious?"

"'Course I'm serious. Like I said, I'm not just interested in sex. And considering how rare an occurrence that is, I'd say it's worth waiting for." He strolled down to his red Lamborghini parked outside. Then paused at the door to shoot him a broad smile. "But if you change your mind before then, give me a call."

Alistair stood at the top of the steps, a reluctant grin spreading across his face. "We'll see."

Scott tossed him a joking salute and slid into his car, the engine roaring throughout the estate grounds as it shot off down the path.

* * *

The following week flew by for Alistair in a flurry of half-finished activities with Dianne, last-minute corporate calls with the executive board, and clumsily read bedtime stories while rushing to finish scanning the most recent update on profit fluctuations in the US. Dianne had spoken with Olivia a few times over the phone. She and Nick were currently on a river cruise through Europe, celebrating their three year anniversary. After every call, Olivia always made a point to try and talk with Alistair, at which point he would  _conveniently_  remember a form he forgot to sign, or a call he forgot to make. It was childish, he knew that. But she wasn't going to tell him anything he didn't already know himself.

Finn's lessons with Dianne wound up occurring every second day that week; something Alistair was not about to take issue with. He couldn't very well deny her that small treat after disappointing her so many times already. And it became clear very early on that the girl adored Finn. Already, she could play a slow, broken, but technically correct version of  _Let It Go_. Apparently the next one on their agenda was  _I See The Light_.

Alistair, for his part, had managed to drop in on the lessons once or twice. Usually he missed Finn before he left at the end, but a few times managed to catch him just at the doorway. He'd ask him if he wanted to stay for a cup of tea and catch up, but every time Finn had some new excuse for needing to leave straight away. Either the dogs had to be fed, or he was due to talk to family on Skype, or he thought he left the house unlocked...

Maybe it was nothing, but Alistair got the distinct impression that Finn was avoiding him. With that concern came a flood of possible reasons as to why that could be. Had he said or done something to annoy or offend him? But if that were the case, wouldn't it be better to speak to him about it like an adult, instead of avoiding him entirely? Then again, maybe he'd neither said nor done anything. Maybe Finn had simply decided to leave their friendship in the past and move on.

The prospect irked Alistair more than he was comfortable with. And not just because of the confusing stab of hurt he felt at the possibility. He hated being in the dark about anything, and pondering Finn's odd behaviour was beginning to take up an alarmingly large part of his mental capacity.

_What's the big deal? I haven't even seen him for seven years. Hell, I never thought I'd see him again anyway. Maybe he's got the right idea and it's better to leave that stuff in the past. Especially since he's technically an employee now. The last thing I want to do is add another level of complication to our relationship..._

While these and a million other thoughts fluttered through his head, Alistair retrieved a fresh mug of coffee from the kitchen. The sounds of piano keys being clumsily struck drew him to the parlour. He stopped at the doorway to watch Dianne play. Since her first lesson, she'd taken to practicing a great deal in her spare time. Alistair had to give Finn one thing: he knew how to get his students interested in the subject.

At the sound of the doorbell, Dianne instantly straightened and hopped off the bench, rushing past him.

"Hi Daddy!" she hurriedly greeted him.

"Hey," Alistair laughed, following after her. In the hallway, he arrived just as the door thud shut behind Finn.

"Hi Finn," she cheerfully greeted. "So you'll never guess what! I just managed to play the second verse of  _I See The Light_  without looking at the sheet music. Oh and I can play  _Let It Go_  so much better now! You need to hear it. I was also thinking maybe I could try and learn to play another song from Frozen when we're done with this one. What do you think? Oh, and..."

As the young girl whom Alistair could scarcely recognise as his daughter went off on a fresh tangent, Finn simply smiled and listened. Occasionally he'd nod or offer a one-word comment so as to not to cut her off entirely. Alistair watched from the far end of the hallway, confused at the unusual rush of warmth he felt upon seeing the two get along so well.

Eventually, when Dianne finally reached the end of her spiel, Finn grinned. "That's brilliant, Dianne! Can't wait till I hear your first album."

She giggled and bounced on the balls of her feet. "Thanks!"

"And hey, if you get particularly comfortable with one song, maybe you could try singing the words to it while playing?"

A weight seemed to descend on her and she ducked her head. "I'm not a good singer," she mumbled.

"Awh, well we'll see. It's up to you," he said, smiling in understanding and not pushing the subject. He then seemed to take note of Alistair still standing at the end of the hallway. Finn's smile immediately took on a more awkward light. "Ah, hey. How's it going?"

"Good," he replied, striving to appear friendly but nonchalant.  _Why do I get the feeling I'm the last person he wants to see..._  "You?"

"Same. So, ugh, there's actually something I wanted to mention," he said, walking forward. "Apparently there's this Seaside Fair on in the village over the weekend. I know you and Dianne are looking for stuff to do together, so I figured that might be fun for you two? Just, you know, a suggestion." He shrugged, looking sheepish.

"Oh, that sounds like so much fun! Can we Daddy?" she asked, spinning to look beseechingly up at him.

Alistair thought it over. Ah, yes. The Seaside Fair. He vaguely remembered that the town had a particularly big one every summer. There were market stalls, street entertainers, amusement rides, and a number of other events that took place over the long weekend. While it would probably be a mite too garish for his tastes, he didn't doubt Dianne would love it.

He smiled down at her. "Of course we can, love."

"And Finn should come too!" she stated, turning to grin at him. Finn seemed to blanch a little at the suggestion.  _Aha! Got you_.

"I don't... Umm, wouldn't you rather it just be you and your dad?"

"We do lots of stuff together, just the two of us. And since you suggested it, it'd be really fun if you came along," Dianne replied. Then paused, face dropping. "You do want to... don't you?"

Alistair knew Finn would be rendered powerless in the face of Dianne's puppy-dog eyes. He looked to him with raised eyebrows, and Alistair realised he was silently asking whether or not it was okay with him.

"I think it'd be fun," he said, offering a wry smile. And if nothing else, he'd be able to determine once and for all whether Finn had been deliberately avoiding him for the past week. And if he had, then why.

Finn uncomfortably smiled back and nodded. "Well, okay then. Looks like I'm going."

Dianne yipped with joy and grabbed him by the hand, quickly tugging him into the parlour. Already, she was chattering away about what they were going to do on the day.

The lesson went on as per usual after that, with Alistair dropping in halfway through to check on how they were doing. When it was over and Finn was getting ready to leave, he ran into him again in the hallway.

"Hey," Alistair greeted, stopping him in his tracks. "Leaving already?"

He received an uneasy shuffle in response. "Umm, well-"

"Because if you're not busy, I thought maybe we could catch up over a cup of tea." He eyed him, waiting for the predictable response.

"Yeah, I'd like that." He was doing his best to not meet Alistair's gaze. "But it's just that I've got plans this evening..."

"Oh? What sort of plans, if you don't mind me asking?" he queried, trying to sound idly curious. What he really wanted was to whittle out the truths from the lies. He couldn't say why, but the constant stream of excuses were really beginning to annoy him. Mainly because he surmised only a small percentage of them were genuine.

After spending a second shifting his weight from foot to foot, Finn answered, "Well... I mean if you  _must_  know, I'm... meeting up with a friend for drinks."

The way he said "friend" instantly triggered something in Alistair's mind. He was a perceptive man and didn't need to pry any further than that in order to figure out the hidden meaning.

"I see." He ignored the subtle flinch Finn gave at his curt tone. "Well, have a good time then. I'll see you for Dianne's next lesson."

With that he turned and headed back up the staircase without a backwards glance. He pointedly didn't throw in his usual parting  _"maybe next time"_  comment. It was getting tiresome asking, and if Finn was happy to leave their friendship in the past, then so be it. He ignored whatever distant part of his mind which seemed to bristle at the prospect of him going on a date with someone. And his foul mood and terse farewell had nothing to do with that feeling. Nothing at all.

He dropped into the black leather chair of his office, sitting back and staring blankly at the papers and computer set out over his desk. After a moment, Alistair shook himself back into awareness and resumed work. His eyes, however, kept flicking toward his phone. The same thought running through his head again and again to the point of distraction.

Only when he realised he was sitting there, pen in hand and hovering motionlessly over a document whose contents he'd been blankly staring at for the past five minutes, did Alistair give up on trying to work. His eyes settled on the phone once more and after a moment of hesitation, he reached over and picked it up. Alistair scrolled through his contacts, finger hovering over the call button for a moment before sucking in a short breath.

No more than two rings sounded before a voice answered, "Y'ello."

"Hello Mr. Car-... Scott. It's Alistair. I've been thinking and... Any chance I could take you up on that offer of a date?"

* * *

 


End file.
